


United We Stand

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Fiery Templar and the Fearless Assassin [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: 18th Century Surgery, Arno probably has severe abandonment issues, Arno will teach her how to use them, Blood - Album, Blood - Song, Broken, Currently undergoing Major Overhaul part II, Disclaimer II, Edward Rutherford - Paris: The Novel, Elise has a breakdown, Evanescence, Evanescence (album)/Synthesis, F/M, Flashbacks, I bite my thumb at you Bowden!, I mean, I mean he probably viewed it as her abandoning him, I've read the Unity novel, I've taken what I like from it and added it to the story, In This Moment - Freeform, It's not pleasant, Julie dies when Élise is twelve, Kids with guns, Lost in Paradise - song, Memories, Miscarriage, Moonbathers, NSFW, NSFW bits, Nightwish - Freeform, Please bare with me, Ravenheart, Seether, Seether featuring Amy Lee, She goes to the boarding school when she's 14, The Hurricane, The Lioness, Turn the Lights Out, Ugh, Why?, and a pox on your ac fanfiction!, and my own playlist for Arno and Elise, and she also got me seasons 1-8 of the Big Bang Theory and that comes monday as well!, because I fucking want her to be a badass with wrist blades, chapter 16 is Arno centric, deep thinking shit, delain, dont piss off Arno, great for inspiration, he can live a normal life but he has abandonment issues, he probably was suicidal after Elise's death for a spell, his mother leaves him when he's a small child and then his dad dies when he's eight, how the rest of Unity should have gone if Elise had survived, if you can't deal with it, ignored or changed what I didn't, it may be a bit graphic for the summer children, it's just so them! :D, just like everyone else he ever was close to in his life, kindly leave, like serious, listening to Nightwish and Evanescence and old Theatre of Tragedy, my sister got me the unity artbook with a metal game case and the soundtrack, my unity key chain comes monday. :D, none of her childhood flashbacks are based on the novel, oh noes!, pretty music, real life was getting in the way, scary dream, sequel to Sacrifice, so a pox on you Bowden, some oneside m/m flirting, sorry this took so long to get up, still listening to the Home soundtrack, that comes monday too!, that fucks people up, the Apple rears its ugly head, tomb raiding: Assassin and Templar style, uuuuh.... GORE!, which is the normal time for young ladies to go to such schools., while some characters and events are similar to the Unity novel, written to the Home soundtrack, xandria, yes I gave wrist blades to Elise, Élise's is past is composed of my own headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 139,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germain is dead. Arno and Élise look now towards the future they have together, rebuilding the lives they had lost during their quest to end Germain. Ahead of them are countless trials and they will learn that as long as they stand united, they will never falter and only when they are divided will they fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Look to the Future

The door opened; stone ground on stone as the ancient gears pulled it back revealing a chamber within. Élise swallowed, her heart pounding as they stared at the shadowy figure in center. "Germain," Élise hissed, drawing her sword and taking a step forward but Arno grabbed her.

"Élise," he said, "remember we do this together." She looked at him, frustrated that he wouldn't let her rush Germain why he was unsuspecting. "It's the only way we can defeat him, especially since he has that sword."

 _The Sword of Eden…_ "Right," Élise said.

"I promise, he won't escape," Arno said, and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "This will be his tomb."

"Yes," Élise said, and returned Arno's squeeze. She faced Germain. "So, what's the plan, Assassin?" she quipped, a smirk twitching on her lips.

"Stick to the shadows, then he can't use the sword. Keep him talking and focused on you. I'll sneak around and strike him from the shadows. This will all be over soon, Élise."

"Yes, it will be." She felt anxious, charged, on edge. After five long years her revenge will be complete, she will — at last — strike down the man that killed her father. She glanced at Arno and on impulse, pulled him into a kiss. "I love you," she whispered, and slipped into the shadows, heading towards the usurper. "Germain!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the chamber. "Today is the day you die!"

"Really? You and what army Élise?" Germain counted, turning towards her, the Sword of Eden in hand. She watched the mystical blade pulse and shimmer with strange power.

"Did you not expect this day to come? Just because François de la Serre didn't have any sons didn't mean I was going to stand by at let you get away with what you have done!" Élise said. Her blood boiled in her veins, jaw clenched tight and her body tense, ready to spring at a moment's notice, her anger steadied her and allowed her to focus on her target. She peeked around the pillar she was hiding and saw Germain looking for her. Germain pointed the sword at her, a bolt of lightning erupting from the blade; her eyes widen and she tossed herself to the safety of another pillar as the crackling electrical energy collided with the pillar she was hiding behind moments before. "What in God's name…" she breathed, staring at the damage for a moment before scrambling to her feet and pressing herself up behind the safety of the new pillar.

"Don't think the shadows can hide you and your pet assassin forever!" Germain shouted. Élise ground her teeth. "And I did only what I felt was right! I had to do it! The old Rite was failing! Your father was a cancer upon it! Peace with the Assassins? Ha! We were becoming too blind to our failings, grabbing for positions of power!"

"So, you felt my father had to die?" Nails dug into stone, chest heaving with great angry breaths, it took all her will power to remain calm, to stay hidden. She needed to do this, to give Arno the chance to get into position so he can deliver — as much as it galled her — the killing blow.

"Sometimes the old needs to be the mortar for the new," Germain said. Élise peeked around the pillar, him shift firing into the shadows opposite her. She swallowed hoping Arno was alright.

"I won't let you get away with this, Germain!" Élise shouted. "You will die."

"You are as narrow-minded as your father, girl. Don't you see what I'm trying to do? I'm trying to restore the Order to its proper place in the world! Once the Revolution is done, we will arise as the true masters of France, hidden in the shadows where we belong, in every level of society."

"You orchestrated the revolution for your own gains! The people of France die because of your own ambitions!" Élise shouted.

"I'm starting to wonder if your dalliances with Charles' son have turned you away from Understanding and Truth, Élise," Germain said. Élise snarled, gripping the stone of the pillar.

"What do you know about my father?" Arno shouted, from the darkness opposite her. Élise held her breath as Germain shifted his attention from her and fired a lightning bolt into the darkness.

"Arno has nothing to do with this, Germain!" she shouted, drawing the madman's attention back to her. "I care about the people of France! I do not want to see them under  _your_  yoke!"

"But your father's yoke is perfectly fine? Élise your naïveté is no longer amusing. These people you claim to care about are no smarter than sheep. They need a shepherd to guide them to a better life. We, the Templars, are that shepherd, and if bloodshed is need then so be it. The culling of the weak from the herd is a simple necessity at times. It is the bitter work of a shepherd to cull his flock of the weak and lame and sickly."

"My father was not one of the weaklings that needed culling!" Élise shouted, growing frustrated with standing still and having a battle of words with Germain. It would be more effective if she crossed swords with him, yet she held fast, trusting Arno. She hoped he was okay.

"No, I think he was," Germain said. Élise risked peeking out behind her pillar. She saw Arno, posed like an eagle of shadows atop the angel statue, hidden blade gleaming in the torchlight. She knew if she rushed Germain, he'd have to step back and he would be within perfecting striking range for Arno. She glanced up at him, but Arno didn't see her. Élise swallowed hoping that Arno would figure out her plan if he saw her move. "I grow bored of this conversation Élise. Either come and face me or tell your pet assassin to stop hiding. Though the latter may be difficult, considering he's most likely dead."

Something in her snapped, with a scream she drew her sword and rushed Germain, drawing her sword back. She saw the failing in her plan instantly as the man smirked, charging the Sword of Eden.

"Élise!" Arno screamed. Germain turned then, firing the bolt meant for her at the statue Arno was on, the force shattering it and sending him and the rubble flying. The blast sent her and Germain back as well. The impact with the ground forced the air from her lungs with a painful gasp; she watched as the rubble fell on Arno, her fear seizing her when she heard him yelp.

"No!" she scrambled to her feet, racing towards him despite the pounding in her head, the blood oozing from a cut near her hair line and by her right brow. "Arno!" she cried, stumbling into the mass of marble, and climbing over them to see him.

"I'm stuck," Arno muttered. "Help me get free." Élise swore and began to pull away the looser boulders. They worked frantically and she grunted as she pushed against a larger block. She glanced back, Germain had regained his feet, staggering about from the shock wave of the blast. "Élise," Arno called.

"I can take him," she said, a surge of confidence welling up in her breast.

Arno grabbed her hand. "We agreed to do this together. He won't escape, I promise!"

"But he's dazed now, I can rush him and—"

"With that weapon, he's too strong for you!" Arno protested. Élise ground her teeth together and glanced at Germain. The man was getting his bearings again and would take this chance to make his escape, yet she knew Arno had a point. She saw the power of the weapon, it's destructive force. "Élise," Arno said, his eyes growing wide. "You're pistol! Shoot him!"

Élise drew her pistol, aimed and fired. The crack of gunfire echoed in the vault as did Germain's scream. He fell to the ground, clutching his knee. She smirked at Arno. "He won't be leaving now," Élise snarled, before slipping her hands beneath the slab that had Arno pinned. "Push on three."

"Right," Arno agreed and waited for Élise to count. She lifted the stone and he pushed against it, and together they moved the stone enough for Arno to wriggle free. They walked up to Germain. The man clutched his knee, curled upon the ground, whimpering in pain. Yet, as they drew near Élise realized the man was laughing.

"Fools! Fools, both of you!" Germain laughed. "Progress will march on. Someone will take my place. You have only delayed the inevitable."

Arno and Élise glanced at each other. Germain groaned, and reached for the sword. Élise stepped on his hand, delighted when he squealed. "None of that now Germain," Élise hissed, her voice syrupy sweet though there was murder in her eyes. She slammed her sword into his chest, missing his heart. "That was for my father," she snarled. Germain groaned. Arno knelt and flicked his wrist, his hidden blade gleaming in the light. He pressed it into Germain's throat, blood bubbling out of his lips.

Élise watched him die. She felt cold and empty inside, her father was still dead and her angry was still very much a warm ember in her heart. Yet, now… now Élise felt that she could look towards the future. A future with Arno by her side, and the construction of a new Templar Order with a melding of Templar beliefs and Assassin ideology. She won't deny that Arno had influenced her somewhat, along with her mother and Haytham Kenway's letters.

She glanced at Arno, and gasped. Her love was frozen, a constant tremble shook his entire body, sweat beaded upon his brown. She dropped to her knees. "Arno?" she called, she reached for him but pulled back, afraid to touch him. "Arno, are you alright?" Élise asked.

He gasped suddenly, pulling his blade from Germain's neck. It snicked back into its sheath. "I… I'm fine," Arno said, slumping back onto heels. She caught him, allowing him to rest against her chest. They sat there, in the gloomy vault, torches flickering around them, Germain next to them, laying in a pool of his own blood. It was soothing to hold Arno in her arms, to feel the rise and fall of his chest against her chest and the comforting weight of his head against her shoulder. She hummed, smoothing his sweaty hair from his brow.

"What happened? You just… froze," Élise asked. Arno didn't say anything, he just stared off in the distance. "Does that always happen?"

"Yes," he whispered, "Bellec said it has something to do with my… Assassin senses."

"Oh." She pressed a kiss to his head. "You seem fine."

"I am, it's brief a few seconds maybe. I guess Germain was longer because he… was special, said he was Grand Master Jacques de Molay," Arno said, staring at the man's two different eyes. He shuddered, and she watched him reach out and close the dead Templar's eyes.

"Interesting, though I say good riddance," she said, looking down at him as he rested his head against her shoulder again. She smiled, her gaze softening, before leaning down and kissing him. She sighed into the kiss as she felt him tangle his hand in her hair, deepening it. Kissing him never felt so sweet.

They broke apart, much to her displeasure, and she looked at the Sword of Eden, Arno's gaze following hers. It rippled and shimmered with unearthly energy and golden light. Arno pushed away from her with a grunt and stood. She watched him pick up the sword, gave it a few experimental swings, before slipping it into his belt next to his other sword. She stood up as well. "Are we taking it back to the Assassins?" she asked.

"Honestly, I don't even want them to have this type of power. I don't want anyone else to use it."

"Neither do I, so what do we do with it? Toss it into the Seine?" she asked, looking at the sparkling blade at his hip.

"I'm going to keep it," he said, taking her hands, "and when I die I want to be buried with it. Promise me Élise, if I die before you… that you'll bury me with the Sword of Eden."

"Arno," she said, her voice shaky. She didn't want to think about losing him, as far off as that may be, it was too soon after the avenging of her father to think about such things. She wanted to enjoy life and him, not think about the end. "Please, let's not talk about this. Not now," she said.

"Promise me."

A rat squeaked in the darkness and the silence pressed in around them, she could hear her breathing and Arno's breathing. "I… I promise," she whispered, bowing her head, so he wouldn't see that her eyes began to well with tears.

"Thank you," he said. Élise didn't say anything, finding Germain's body morbidly interesting, and stared at it for several long moments. "Élise? Élise, it's over now, it's over," Arno said.

She let go of Arno's hands and stepped towards the body, her boots clopping against the stone floor. She stopped, staring down at the man that destroyed her family, her life, her Order. The ball of hate that had been in her gut since she learned his identity had ignited into an inferno. The serene look on his face in death enraged her, he didn't deserve to look peaceful, he deserved to suffer.

She spat on him. The glob of saliva shiny in the dim light. The hate flared into a fire and with an enraged shout she smashed her heel into Germain's face, smirking when she heard the satisfying crunch of his nose. Again and again and again, she stomped on his face until she was being dragged away from him. Élise gave a frustrated shout, throwing off whomever it was that pulled her away from Germain. She cast one hateful glare at the dead man before storming out of the Temple's inner sanctum.

"Élise! Élise!  _Élise!_ " A hand grabbed hers and dragged her to a sudden stop.

"What?" She snapped, fury in her eyes, her hand going to the sword at her hip. Élise closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She studied his startled face, before letting out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Arno."

"Are you alright?" Arno asked, rubbing her arm. "Back there… what… what happened?" He looked at her. Élise looked away, unable to bare the scrutiny of his gaze.

"Nothing," she finally said. "I… I'm fine Arno." She forced a smile. She didn't want to talk about it, her hate and the intensity of it. Arno didn't need to know, Arno mustn't know. If he knew how deep it ran… she feared she'll lose him forever.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She gave a nod, widening her smile, her eyes betraying her. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Be honest with me, Élise are you—"

"I said I was fine, Arno!" she snapped. "We'll talk about it later. We need to leave before Germain's lackeys find us."

Arno bowed his head, nodding a little. "Yes," he said, "you're right. We need to leave." He looked at her and Élise knew he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. She gave him another weak smile before continuing down the corridor, her footsteps echoed by his.

* * *

 

It was a silent walk from the Temple to Café Théâtre, neither Élise nor Arno said anything. In fact, Élise felt as if the entire journey didn't even happen, the surrealness of it was uncanny. They reached the café, and Arno told Valérie, that he and Élise would be taking dinner in his room. She nodded, and he lead Élise by the hand up to his room. The silence between them was pregnant and unbearable, yet neither dared to break it, for fear of them both shattering. Arno set the Sword of Eden down between his bed and dresser cabinet, then took one of his old shirts, and covered the weapon it, to hide its glow from curious eyes.

Valérie came in, bearing dinner on a tray and left them to their food. Dinner was a silent pensive affair, broken only by the sound of cutlery, the pouring of wine, and chewing.

Élise watched Arno take a sip of his wine, gaze staring out the window. The sun had set and men were out lighting the street lamps, while overhead the stars twinkled. She took a sip of her wine as well. "It's… sweet," she said. Arno looked at her, a brow arching. "The wine, I mean. It's a sweet wine."

"It's Bordeaux," he muttered, "my favorite."

Élise smiled, lowering her gaze. "Should've known, you always did have a sweet tooth." Arno gave an amused snort, though he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's not a bad wine. I just don't care for such sweet wines."

"Of course you don't," Arno said, a smile tugging at his lips, "you enjoy the robust ones."

"You know me too well," Élise agreed.

"Élise about what happened—"

"What do I do now?" Élise asked, cutting Arno off and ignoring his frown. "Germain's dead."

"Yes," Arno agreed, "he is dead." He shifted in his seat with a sigh, leaning back in the chair. He picked up his glass, and took a sip, mulling over his thoughts as he stared out the window. He eventually swallowed before looking at her. She tapped her nails against her glass, then put it on the table. "And you…" he stopped, sighed and began, "what happened Élise? You just… snapped."

Élise looked away. "I don't want to talk about it, Arno. I told you, I'm fine. I need to decide on what I do now. I need to go forward." Élise sighed, resting her elbow on the table and rubbing her forehead. She felt lost, confused. She wanted guidance, someone to lean one and show her what move to make next.

"Élise, I don't think you realize it, but… you aren't fine. You mutilated his body and—"

"He didn't deserve to look so peaceful, Arno! Not after what he done to my family, done to me!" Élise snapped, glowering at him. "You don't seem to realize that he nearly destroyed my entire life… no he did! He probably had my mother killed when I was ten! He needed to suffer! You gave him a quick death!"

"I told you," Arno said, "it's not the Assassin way to—"

"Oh, a pox on the damn Assassins, Arno! You aren't even a member of the Brotherhood anymore!" Élise snapped, she watched as his face fell at the reminder. "Germain took everything from me."

"No," Arno said, his voice tender, "not everything."

" _Yes_ ," Élise hissed, "everything."

"Élise… I'm still here. I haven't betrayed you, I never betrayed you."

"You're an Assassin," Élise said, though a rueful frown tugged at her lips, "well…  _were_  an Assassin. At any rate, Germain forced you to become one, and I have thus lost you."

Arno sighed, looking away. He poured himself some more wine, even though his glass wasn't empty. He took several long swallows, before staring into the glass. "Do… Do you want me to become a Templar?" he asked after a moment.

Élise's eyes grew wide, and she stared at him. She was supposed to bring him over to the Order, indoctrinate him while they grew up. Now they were grown, and Arno possessed the skills of an Assassin.  _What would Father want me to do?_  Élise thought, looking away. She knew what her father would want her to do, tell Arno yes, and induct him into the Order. A Templar with the skills and knowledge of an Assassin, what a boon that would be. "No," she said after a while, "I don't want you to become a Templar and I don't want you to return to the Assassins."

Arno frowned. "Why?"

Élise looked away, obsidian-sharp memories cutting through her anger, of happier days when life was easier, when her parents were alive, Mr. Weatherall had his leg, and she had Arno. When she still had hope. "Because," she whispered, "I would have you."

The wine glass thunked softly as Arno set it down and the chair squeaked; she felt him take her hands. "Élise," he said, she refused to look at him. "Élise look at me," he repeated, with some more force. She looked at him, her eyes moist with unshed tears, noticing he was kneeling before her. She sniffed, pulling one hand free to rub her nose. "Élise you've  _always_  had me. From the day we met, you had me. You never once lost me. I was… no, I  _am_  forever yours."

"Arno…"

"Germain didn't take me, the Assassins didn't take me," he said, "I remain eternally yours, first and foremost."

"Arno, I…" Élise began but stopped. Everything felt too much. The weight on her chest was too much, a voice deep inside whispering to her, telling to let it go, to give in. Arno wouldn't judge her tears, Arno would hold her and battle her darkest fears. She sniffed, holding back the tears though it felt like a losing battle. She slid off the chair. Arno's arms wrapped around her. She clung to him, staring at nothing. She felt him stroke her hair. She nuzzled his chest, his musk and the scent of Paris clung to his clothes. "I miss him," Élise finally whispered.

"I know," Arno sighed, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I miss him too."

"It's not fair. It's not fair! Why did he have to die? What did I do to deserve it? I tried to be a good daughter, the daughter he deserved… the daughter he wanted but, I just…."

"You were… he loved you, Élise. He wouldn't have wanted you to be anything other than who you are. He'll be so proud of you."

"Would he? After the mess I made of the Templar Order? I failed to assert myself as Grand Master after his death, and allowed Germain to take over. If only I was stronger…"

"Élise, you… you're the strongest person I know," Arno said, "stronger than myself even. You're being too hard on yourself, dear heart."

"How can you love me… after everything I've done?"

Arno smiled. "Because I can see the Élise de la Serre beneath everything, and she is a beautiful, strong and fearless woman. I love whom I love," Arno said, "and I love you."

"Arno…"

"I mean," Arno said, "you have such a warm heart, you're strong in your convictions, your ambitious, and you're fencing is better than mine. I think I fell in love with you when you trounced my ass when we were eleven" —he pressed his forehead against hers— "or that day you told me to steal an apple from the king. Can't decide which."

Élise laughed through her tears. She didn't even realize she was crying. "I always was better at fencing than you. I still am."

"Care to prove it?"

"Hmm." She smiled. "Maybe tomorrow. Tonight… tonight I want to be with you."

Arno kissed her; she could taste the wine on his lips. He pulled away first. "You have me," he whispered, his lips brushing hers, "you will always have me."

She kissed him then, closing the gap between their lips. Élise wanted to feel alive and close to Arno. She pulled away first, gasping for breath. She stared into Arno's eyes, searching for something. A reason maybe, but a reason for what she didn't know. She bowed her head, sniffling again, shaking as he held her. "Arno," she whimpered, and he tightened his embrace.

"Come," he said, "we're both tired, let's get some sleep." She nodded and felt him scoop her up, cradling her against his chest as if she was a small child. She didn't care though, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. All she cared about was that she was here, that she was alive, and he was with her.

 _I made the right choice,_  she told herself as Arno undressed her, and helped her get into a clean shift she had left here a few nights ago.  _I made the right choice, listening to Arno and shooting Germain. I didn't lose myself… yet why? Why do I feel like I have?_  Élise shook her head, her mind too weary to ponder such a question. She crawled into bed, Arno following suit, and she allowed him to pull her close. She pillowed her head against his chest. His heartbeat, her lullaby, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

Élise woke with a start. She struggled for a moment, confused about her surroundings, the restrictive embrace tightening with each wriggle of her body. Panic swelled and it took a muttering of her name for her to realize what had transpired. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she relaxed upon realizing she was in Arno's room, in his bed and he was sleeping peacefully.

Silently, she freed herself from his embrace, and slipped out of bed. On cat-silent feet she walked over to the box where he kept her letters and opened it. The ink was still a bold black, only a day old, and his name written in her graceful hand. She took it, closing the box and flipping it around to check the wax seal. Her personal sigil, a lioness, was unbroken.  _Good_ , she thought and headed over to the fire, the embers still aglow. She tossed it onto the hot coals, watching as the wax melted and the ends curled and blackened.  _Arno will never know._

The letter flared brightly into life, like a dying star in its death throes, before dimming back down to glowing ash. A sound caught her attention, she spun around, noting a shadow on the balcony. Élise swallowed, detouring to the nightstand and picking up Arno's gauntlet. She slipped it on her arm, flexing her wrist, the blade popped out. Smirking, she retracted it and made her way to the windows. The shadow ducked out of sight as she opened the window. A hand reached for her and she side stepped, revealing Arno's hidden blade.

"Mademoiselle Élise," said the shadow, "it's just me."

Élise frowned, then wrinkled her nose as the pungent body odor hit her. "Ruddock," Élise hissed, keeping him at bay with Arno's hidden blade. "What do you want?"

"I'm here… for your end of the bargain. I gave you information," he licked his lips, "you said you'll convince the Brotherhood to take me back."

"How did you know I survived?"

"Don't be so naïve to think you are the only one with eyes and ears in unseen places," Ruddock murmured. He glanced about, gaze trying to peer into the room. Élise shifted to the side, blocking as much as she could with her body

"I will uphold my end," she said slowly, "but first… I still have something for you to do." She watched as Ruddock swore, glancing about with an anxious expression.

"Alright," he said, after a while and several glances at Arno's hidden blade on her wrist. "What do you need me to do?"

"As I assure you probably guess, my order is in disarray at the moment," Élise said, "I need you to see if anyone within France still plots against the de la Serre family, against me."

"And… how would you like me to relay that information to you, mademoiselle?" Ruddock asked.

"If you find anything, return here and give me the list of potential suspects," Élise said. She glanced at the room, watched Arno shift on the bed before turning her gaze back to Ruddock. "Now you must leave, before Arno wakes up."

"Arno? Who's Arn—"

"Go!" Élise hissed, pushing Ruddock away. She watched him leave, before slipping back into the room and closing the door. She retracted the hidden blade, taking the gauntlet off and rubbing her wrist. Placing it back on the nightstand, checking Arno to make sure he was still asleep, she went over to the writing desk. She lit a candle, pulled out some paper, ink and quill, before penning a letter to Mr. Weatherall, beseeching him to forgive her and hunt for anyone still alive that was loyal to the de la Serre name. She signed her name, impressing her personal sigil by it then the Templar crest below it. She'll send it to him in the morning. Task complete, she left the letter to dry and returned to bed. Arno made a soft sleepy sound as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck. Élise smiled, going back to sleep.

* * *

 

The clamor of Paris drifted through the window along with rays of pure golden sunlight, striking Arno's face. He stirred, lips twitching in annoyance before his eyes open and slowly adjusted to the light. He rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.  _Morning._ He tried to recall what happened last night. Then it came back in a sudden rush: Germain, Élise, the Sword of Eden.

He glanced down, Élise's head resting on his chest, one hand resting on his stomach. He smiled a little, running his hand along her soft ruby curls. He still didn't feel like he slept enough, and rubbed the side of his nose. He had no true idea as to what came next. He supposed he could return to the Brotherhood, plead his case before them and hope they reinstate him. He glanced down at Élise. She was acting strange after they killed Germain yesterday, she had stomped on the corpse's face and spat on him as well. She cried in his arms that night, and he'll admit only to the silence that he had cried as well.

He worried about her; had been worrying about her for a while.  _We could always leave this life. The Templar Order is in disarray, I'm no longer an Assassin. Nobody would know… nobody would miss us. We have no family left, no friends to keep us tied down to Paris. We could go anywhere in the world, start a new life, away from all the pain,_  Arno thought. He had a sneaking suspicion that Élise wouldn't agree to leave Paris. Sighing he ran a hand down his face. "What am I going to do?" he mumbled.

He felt Élise shift beside him, and slowly she woke up. She smiled, upon seeing him and he couldn't help but mirror it. She pushed herself up, as his hand came forward, cradling her head and kissing her. It felt good to kiss her, felt good to wake up with her in his arms. They have the chance for a future together. "Good morning," he whispered.

Élise giggled and pressed a kiss to the corner of mouth before saying, "Good morning to you as well," and tapped his nose. Arno smiled at her, chuckling softly.

"You're feeling alright?" he asked, rubbing her back. Élise nodded. "I was… worried about you," he explained, "you… what you did—"

"Stress," Élise said, her tone dismissive. "I was under a lot of stress and I had a lot of hate and anger that I needed to get out. It's gone now" — she smiled — "for the most part." She stroked his forehead, running her fingers through his bangs. "You don't need to worry about me, love, I can take care of myself."

 _But I do! Élise please, I just want to help you._ "I'm glad you're feeling better," Arno said, "if… if you… I'm here for you, Élise. Please, remember that."

She kissed his cheek then, smiling at him. "Thank you," she whispered. She placed her head on his chest running her hand up and down his stomach. He smiled, relaxing at her touch, his own fingers playing with her crimson curls.

"Germain's dead," he stated, glancing down at her. She nodded, a little hum of acknowledgement escaping her throat. "So… what do we do now?"

Élise sighed, pressing a kiss to his skin."Well, I don't know about you," Élise drawled, "but breakfast sounds nice. I am hungry."

Arno chuckled. "No, I meant about our future. What do we do now? Where do we go from here?"

Élise sighed, rubbing her nose against his chest. "I'm the Grand Master now…" she said. Arno nodded, drifting off, the sound of her voice soothing. He wasn't listening, too content to have her in his arms, his mind envisioning the future he saw for them. Married with children, a boy and a girl. Their daughter was Élise's spitting image and their son looked like him. They would never want for anything, never know the loss of a parent. Arno smiled, realizing that he wanted such a future, more than anything. "…I hope Mr. Weatherall will forgive me for being short with him before I left and then there's forging a truce with the Assassins. Oh, Arno! There is just so—"

"Marry me," Arno whispered, pulling her close and kissing her temple.

"What?" Élise exclaimed, pushing herself up into a sitting position, she stared down at him, complete shock on her face. Arno blinked, struggling to catch up with what happened. "Arno?" Élise asked, "Arno… what… what did you say?"

Arno's eyes narrowed, confused as to why she wasn't jubilant and agreeing to his proposal. He sighed, rolled his eyes, realizing his mistake. He sat up, took her hands in his and gave her his most charming smile, hoping she could see all the love he had for her in his heart. "Élise de la Serre, will you marry me… please?" he asked again. He sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his cheek on them, watching her fumble around for the edge of a blanket, a shocked and flummoxed look on her face.

"I… I don't know what to say…" Élise whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. He rubbed his nose against his knees. This wasn't going the way he planned. Hell, he never had a plan in the first place. "I mean… Arno, this is… a bit sudden. What brought this on?"

"We defeated Germain, and you were wondering what we should do next and… well…" he gave a little shrug. "We did promise to get married." He frowned, frustrated when realization didn't dawn on her. "We were fourteen, your father's wine cellar."

"Oh." Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, right. I… I completely forgot about that," she said, giving a weak little laugh. "With everything that has happened… I tried not to think about happier things." Élise frowned, looking away from him. "They just remind me of everything that I've lost."

A rueful smile tugged at his lips; all his memories were just as bittersweet. "I want to spend my life with you Élise." He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I told you before, all I wanted was you." He watched her smile, pulling her hand free to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch, a content sigh escaping his lips.

"You need to shave."

"Mmhmm." He could hear footsteps outside his door, a knock and one of the maids asking if he and mademoiselle de la Serre were awake. Élise lowered her hand as Arno tensed. He and Élise remained silent, the maid called out again but upon hearing no answer, she left. "You're avoiding my question, Élise."

Élise huffed, pulling away from him. "I think it's too soon, Arno," she finally said. "I think if we rush off to the alter now… we're going to be unhappy."

"Why? We've known each other all our lives and—"

"Arno, I have responsibilities. To my family's legacy, to the Templars. I'm the Grand Master! I just can't leave Paris and get married to you and have babies!" Élise said, throwing her hands up wildly. Arno rubbed his nose, glancing out the window. A pigeon landed on the balcony, preened a few feathers before flying off. His skin began to prickle with the rising heat of the morning. He turned his attention back to Élise.

"I never said we're going to flee Paris and have a cozy cabin in the Alps," he said and took her hand. "The goat farm was  _your_  idea, if I recall." He chuckled, Élise looked at him and he gave her an encouraging smile. "All I asked is would you marry me." He gave a little shrug. He watched as Élise nodded, her fingers fiddling with a loose piece of thread. "There's something else you aren't telling me. What is it?"

"Arno, do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" Élise said.

He frowned, wondering what any of this had to do with answering a mere question. "No." He felt discouraged and frustrated, wondering why Élise wouldn't give him an answer.

"You're asking me to give up my name, my independence. Not only that but what about your Brotherhood? What would they think if you married a Templar?"

"You spoke once of forging a peace between our two orders," Arno said, "what better way than to do it through marriage, like the kings of old?"

"Kings of old isn't a very pleasing idea at the moment Arno," Élise said. "You still need to get reinstated into the Brotherhood first."

"I know." Arno sighed, before flopping onto his back. "That night, as we snuggled in the basket of the hot air balloon, I thought about our future." He reached up and snagged one of her ruby curls with a finger, winding it around his finger, a lazy smile on his face. "We got married, lived here, and had some children." He pulled his hand from her hair, allowing her to snuggle against him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I thought we'd… do that after Germain's death."

"Arno," Élise said, "I'll have to think about it. Germain is dead, my order is in disarray, you need to make amends with your Brotherhood. Discussing marriage right now isn't a good idea."

"You're right," he said, "I'm being selfish and thinking above my station. Forgive me." He didn't mean to let his frustration get the best of him, but it did. It felt like Élise didn't want to be with him. He grunted when she elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Ow."

"I told you," she spat, "don't talk to me like that."

"I'm sorry." He looked away from her furious gaze.

"If you'd let me finish," she said, "I was going to say we'll get there." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I want a future with you, Arno. That little dream of a family, of us married, it's mine too."

"Élise—"

"All I'm asking is for some time. Let me think, let us fix what broke and rebuild what we can. Can you give me that please?" she asked.

He sighed, glancing to the foot of the bed. She wasn't refusing his proposal nor was she agreeing to it, she very diplomatically remained neutral. Regardless, it felt like a rejection. A frown tugged on his lips and he only looked at her when she gave his fingers an encouraging squeeze. He returned the gesture. "Of course. Of course, I can Élise," Arno said. He'd wait until hell froze over for her.

"Thank you." She ran her fingers through his hair. "There's just so much to do Arno, that your proposal caught me off guard."

"I know," he mumbled. She was right. They had to rebuild now, with Germain gone there was a vacuum of power among the Templars and if Élise didn't fill it and take control… Arno didn't want to think about the alternative. "Next time do you want me to get down on one knee with a ring and recite a Shakespearean love poem?"

Élise snorted out a giggle. "Oh Arno!" she said. "I think your first proposal was good enough. You don't have to ask again." She wrinkled her nose cutely. "But if you must recite poetry you don't need to recite any god-awful  _English_  poetry. French poetry will do nicely."

Arno laughed. It felt good to laugh. He snuggled against her, nuzzling her throat. "Fair. I'll recite Villon, though I doubt a poet-thief had any love poems to spare."

They giggled about the idea of him reciting poetry and her wooed by it. Their laughter morphed easily into a companionable silence. Arno felt his eyes getting heavy again. Élise hadn't stopped running her fingers through his hair. It was starting to get too warm beneath the covers but Arno didn't feel like moving.

"Thank you," Élise said, suddenly.

"For what?" Arno asked, glancing up at her.

"For… not giving up on me, for always being there, for being my rock. I love you Arno and thinking… just now I realized that… that you were right, that day when I found you in Versailles. I had let my… desires cloud my better judgement; allowed them to obscure and twist my love for you." Élise looked away, color coming to her cheeks. "That I was losing myself to my revenge," she admitted. "It took shooting Robespierre in the jaw for me to realize it… I only ever shot anyone in self-defense, I never… he was defenseless Arno! I shot a defenseless man!"

"Élise—" He pulled her close, remembering the look on her face, the ice in her eyes and the cruelty in her voice as she told Robespierre to write. It made him think about his own father, if he was willing to try and find whomever killed him, and more importantly if he would want to exact revenge upon his father's murderer.

Élise sat up suddenly. He watched the blanket pool around her waist, her breasts exposed. He eyed them before looking up to see the determined smile on her face. "Like I said, we have to put everything back together now. France still needs to heal. I… you…  _we_  still need to heal." She pulled him into a sitting position before hugging her. "Let's take things one step at a time. Let's pick up what can be salvage from Germain's reign and rebuild,  _then_  let's talk about marriage."

There was a fiery strength in her blue eyes, resolve to face the trails that lay ahead and it sucked him in, bolstering his own resolve and banishing any lingering doubts he had. He took a deep breath before exhaling in a rush. "Alright," Arno said, he pulled himself from Élise's embrace; a half smile appearing on his lips. Her words resonating deep within his heart. She was right, they did need to rebuild, and heal. His thoughts drifted back to Élise, her outburst of aggression towards Germain's corpse still fresh in his mind.

"Every time I imagined my future, Arno, you were always by my side," Élise said, taking his hand, "as my husband, my partner, my equal."

He gave her a wide smile, an encouraging nod and a peck on the forehead, before getting out of bed. Élise giggled, rolling into the warm spot he left, she gave him a tender smile. He pulled his pants up and looked over his shoulder at her, despite what happened he still couldn't help but admire her beauty. "Are you just going to stay in bed then?"

"No," Élise said, "I was serious about being hungry. Do you think the cooks can make some crêpes?" He chuckled as he put his clothes on. He ran his fingers through his hair, untangling the snags that he came across before pulling it back and tying it with a ribbon. Élise smirked and slid, cat like, out of the bed and took her time getting dress. He waited for her, admiring her as she carefully selected her garments and clothed her body. Once presentable for the day, she took Arno's hand, pecked his lips and he led them to the kitchen.

* * *

 

The Assassin Sanctuary was just as unfriendly and gloomy as she remembered it. The three remaining members of the council stared down at them.

"What is this meaning of this, Arno?" Sophie Trenet asked, glancing at Elsie and Arno. Élise frowned not liking the tone the woman used with Arno, regardless if she was Mentor of the French Brotherhood or not. "We banished you from the Brotherhood, and now you return with a Templar?"

"The Grand Master of the Templars," Élise interjected, smug. "I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly."

"Silence, Templar," Trenet hissed. Élise gaped at the woman, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "What do you have to say for yourself, Arno?"

"François-Thomas Germain is dead, by our hand," Arno said. "And for the betterment of France!"

"Germain is dead?" Beylier asked. Élise watched as Arno shifted beneath the man's gaze.

"Yes, he's dead." Arno said. "You can check the Temple if you don't believe me, his body is in the vault. I'd be more than willing to show you his corpse."

"We will send an agent to confirm your story," Trenet said.

"You want something, boy. Out with it," Quemar said, his voice icy. Élise felt Arno squeeze her hand before letting go of it and taking a few steps forward.

"I would like my position back. Germain is dead and—"

"You paved the way for Mademoiselle de la Serre to assume the position of Grand Master!" Quemar said. "You failed to crush the Templar Order."

"What?" Arno gasped, looking up at the three faces that loomed above him.

"The French Rite is  _still_  crippled," Élise said, coming to Arno's defense. "The Assassins still maintain dominance in France,  _thanks_  to Arno. It will take me years to rebuild it."

"Silence Templar," Quemar snapped.

"I will not be silenced!" Élise said. "Arno killed Germain! The man that was behind everything! The Revolution, my father's death, the shattering of the truce… all of it! Germain had a hand in it! And Arno killed him."

"Just because Mirabeau and your father were confidants doesn't mean that  _this council_  will entertain alliances with the Templars!" Quemar snarled.

"Then I think your heads need to be parted from your shoulders and new leadership appointed," Élise hissed, dropping her hand to her sword. The three councilmembers murmured amongst themselves. "I come here to inform you, along with Arno, of Germain's death  _and_  to renegotiate the truce between our two orders that my father had established."

"Truce? Why are you so adamant about a truce between our two orders, Mademoiselle de la Serre? What could the Templars or the Assassins possibly gain from such a thing?" Trenet asked.

"During my studies," Élise said, "I read a series of letters penned by a high ranking member of my order… his father and sister were both Assassins" — Élise smiled — "you may have heard of him, actually. His name was Haytham Kenway." A collective gasp sprung up and Élise couldn't help but smirk. "In his letters, he spoke of how fruitless this constant fighting between Templar and Assassin truly is, that ultimately we both desire peace and prosperity for the world. My mother, too, also advocated for a third way. Germain and Bellec," Élise paused, "they say that peace between Templar and Assassin can never happen, that it's a fool's errand" — Élise gabbed Arno's hand — "but Arno and I are living proof that Templar  _and_  Assassin can work together, transcend this vicious dogma and forge a peace."

"France still bleeds," Arno said, looking up at Trenet. "Our actions have consequences. Templars and Assassins have different views, but together… we can help heal France. We both want to make the world a better place, to help people. This excess of freedom has led to a state of near anarchy and there needs to be control in order—"

"Spoken like a Templar sympathizer," Quemar spat, "Sophie, enough of this nonsense. Let's thank them for their service and send them on their way."

"I retain my belief in what the Assassins fight for," Arno said, taking a step forward. "But I'm not naïve enough to blindly believe it. And Élise isn't naïve enough to believe the Templar philosophy is the only correct path. We've walked the streets of Paris, and we've seen the chaos, the disorder" — Arno looked at Trenet — "you once told me that if we merely danced atop a scale it would be easy to chart our course of action, but it's not. It's more complex than that. Please." He looked at them beseeching. "Mirabeau would've opted for negotiating with Élise. Honor his memory."

Élise watched as Trenet looked between them, chewing the inside of her cheek as she thought. "What are you terms then, Mademoiselle Grand Master?" Trenet asked, leaning on the railing, staring down at the two of them.

"France remains a non-combative zone in the war between Templar and Assassin. The alliances between Rite and Brotherhood outside of France will coincide with the allies of the French government. Neither side will aide a Rite or Brotherhood that is an enemy of France. Positions of leadership are elected not inherited—"

"They been that way for centuries among the Assassins, girl. It's you, Templars, that are so concern with inheritance!" Beylier shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Élise. She glanced at him, arching a brow in disbelief.

"If a member of either order is accused by the other of wrong doing, they are innocent until proven guilty. An assembly made up of the Grand Master and two Templars, the Mentor and two Assassins will be judge and jury of the accused. And, if I'm aware that any Templar has broken the truce in any way, I will get word to the Assassins so they can eliminate him or her," Élise said.

"Anything else?" Trenet asked.

"Oh, yes," Élise said, "you  _must_  reinstate Arno. Restore to him his rank and title he had previously."

"Élise," Arno hissed. She glanced at him, a question in her eyes. He glanced away, bowing his head.

"Are these terms acceptable?" Élise asked.

"These so-called terms are outrageous!" Quemar thundered, slamming his fist on the railing. "Sophie, you aren't really going to entertain this girl's… demands are you?"

"I agree with Hervé," Beylier said. Sophie Trenet stared down at the two of them, chewing her lip as she thought.

"We need some time to deliberate upon these terms before deciding," Trenet said.

"What about Arno," Élise said, "surely that is a simple matter to settle?"

"We will deliberate on Arno's current status within the Brotherhood," Trenet said.

"I killed Germain!" Arno shouted, furious that the council would chaff him in such a manner. "Does that not mean anything?"

"While we are extremely pleased that François-Thomas Germain has been eliminated, your previous actions and blatant disregard for our tenets and teachings call into question if we should restore your previous status among the Brotherhood," Trenet said.

"This is—"

"Acceptable," Élise interjected, placing a hand on Arno's arm. "We await to hear your answer," Élise inclined her head, "good day." She gave Arno's arm a tug and lead him out of the council chamber.

* * *

 

"How can they be like that!" Arno shouted, pacing his room. He tugged at his hair. "I killed Germain! What more do they want from me?"

"My head on a pike?" Élise offered, as she pushed her fork through a slice of cake. She tried not to grimace as she remembered the common folk carrying the severed heads of nobles skewered on pikes during the storming of the Bastille. Arno glowered at her. She met his gaze. "This is diplomacy Arno. I hate it just as much as you do, but if we want to be together… if we want things in France to eventually stabilize, we need to learn how to play the game of politics."

"I know," Arno huffed, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the ceiling. "It's just infuriating! And the way they talked to you!"

Élise shrugged. "They're Assassins. They are used to seeing Templars are evil and foul creatures that must be killed on sight" — she smiled at him — "not united and speaking of peace between the two orders."

"Why are you so… willing to play their game?" Arno asked, pulling a chair up next to her.

"Because Haytham Kenway was right. This fighting between our two orders has gone on for centuries. It needs to stop. The Assassins and Templars are like two ticks fighting for control of the same cat. It's pointless folly. We can be so much more if we work together," Élise sighed, "Though I fear it just maybe wishful thinking."

"I don't," Arno said, grabbing her hand. "I think we prove to the world that there can be peace between Templar and Assassin. And, we aren't the only ones that prove this, Altaïr ibn La'Ahad and his wife Maria Thorpe also prove this."

"Maria Thorpe eventually joined the Assassins," Élise said, "but I think she would have stayed with the Templars if… circumstances would have been different for her."

"Are you going to join the Assassins?" Arno asked. Élise laughed, tapping his nose.

"Are you going to join the Templars, Arno? We have several excellent positions open," Élise said. Arno laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. A knock sounded on the door. Arno glared at it before getting up and answer it. Élise returned to her cake, savoring the strawberry jelly used to make it. She kept an eye on Arno as he accepted the message from the courier and gave the lad a coin for his trouble.

Arno read the note. "Damn him," Arno snarled.

"Who?" Élise looked up at Arno's outburst.

"Sade!" Arno growled.

"What did that lech do this time?" Élise asked, looking at Arno. He marched over to her and thrust the note beneath her nose.

"He wants me to go to Franciade to retrieve a manuscript for him," Arno growled. Élise set her plate down and took the note, reading it quickly.

"A mysterious manuscript located in one of the tombs of the kings, how odd," Élise said, and read the note again. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I don't want to go, I don't want to miss the Council's decision," Arno said.

"I think we should go see what he wants," Élise said, "the Assassin Council won't make any decisions in the next few days. I'm expecting to hear from then in a fortnight."

"Great," Arno said, rubbing his forehead.

"So, while we wait, let's go see what the Marquis de Sade wants," Élise said.

"Wait… we?" Arno asked, staring at her.

"Of course, I'm going with you Arno," Élise said. She stood up and handed the note back to Arno. "Do you really think I'd let you go gallivanting off after some manuscript without any help?"

"No, I just… what about rebuilding your order?" Arno asked.

"I have sent a letter to my only truly ally, but I don't know when he'll reply or  _if_  he can find anyone that's still loyal to the de la Serre name that's alive or anyone new and willing. I've done what I can for now without drawing attention to myself," Élise said, "and the last thing I need to do is draw attention to myself. I need allies first and foremost if I'm going to rebuild."

"And Germain's supporters will be wanting your head, so it's best if you maintained a low profile," Arno said.

"Exactly, but I can't just sit around here twiddling my thumbs waiting for news, so…" Élise smiled, "I'm going to go with you."

Arno gave a little amused chuckle. "Very well, tomorrow we leave," he said. Élise smiled, and wound her arms around Arno's neck.

"Now, I do believe we haven't properly celebrated Germain's defeat," she purred, trailing a finger down his lips before kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> So… this is the sequel to Assassin's Creed Unity if Élise had survived. So, Franciade, here we come! It's mostly going to be told from Élise's POV because I love writing her. :3
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> Nemo et Nihil
> 
> PS: Edited shit
> 
> PPS: Edited more shit


	2. City of the Dead

Arno squeezed her ass as he came, a loud grunt escaping his throat as he nuzzled her neck, and smirked when he felt her clench around him. Élise sighed his name as she rode out her climax. Spent, Arno pulled out of her, rolling onto his back and taking her with him so she'd rested on his chest. Outside, soaring over the cacophony of people heading to the market, work or the day's new riot, the knelling of the bells of Notre Dame sounded. He counted them, and checked his watch. Both the ancient cathedral and his father's pocket watch confirmed the hour: eight o'clock in the morning. "Enough of that," Élise said, closing the watch and setting it back on the nightstand. He was about to protest but it died on his lips when he felt her lips against his neck.

"We should get up and head to Franciade," he said, moaning softly as she nipped and sucked on his neck; his hands ran up and down her back, feeling the dip between her ribs and spine, the dimples above her perky ass, the smoothness of her soft warm skin. He growled a little. "Élise." He kissed her cheek. "We need to get up."

"It's early," she protested. "And cold outside, the bed's nice and warm." She leaned back a bit, and he smiled at her. He grabbed her hand, and cupped her cheek with the other. "Enjoying the view?"

"Of course," he said. "I wake up to the most beautiful woman in all of Paris in my arms, how could I not enjoy the view?"

"Charmer." They shared a kiss. "We could leave tomorrow."

"No, Sade wants us—  _me_  there today." His thumb traced her cheekbone, then the curve of her jaw, and the underside of her bottom lip. As a teenager, he dreamed about kissing her lips, as a boy he wanted to see those lips curl into a mirthful smile, and as a man… he wanted both.

"What are you thinking about?" Élise tilted her head to the side and kissed his palm.

"You," he said, "me." His hands dropped to her waist and he sat up, making sure she stayed in his lap. He gave her lips a quick peck, and pulled her against his chest, sighing as he felt her run her fingers through the hair on his chest. He rested his cheek on her head, drinking in her scent: a mixture of cinnamon and cloves, sweat and sex. "I still can't believe Germain is dead."

"It almost doesn't feel real, does it?" She looked up at him. "After five long years…"

"I don't know what to do with my life now, hunting him… unraveling the mystery behind your father's death… had consumed so much of my life." He rested his chin on her head then, sighed. "Do you think he's at peace now?"

"I've asked myself that question many times before and after we killed Germain," Élise said. "I wondered if… if my father was at peace before Germain's death if I should have spared him."

"No." Arno shook his head. "Germain was a madman that needed to be dealt with. I… I think… at least I hope, we did the right thing Élise."

"Do you see now?" Élise said, leaning back a little. He laced his fingers together at the small of her back. "This is what your freedom has begotten. Chaos and anarchy." She gestured to the window; he glanced over his shoulder. He could see Paris and wondered if Élise was right.

"Would the Templar way have been better? Order and control?" he asked.

"Your creed says nothing is true, everything is permitted. Look at France Arno. Look at our poor nation tearing itself apart, all in the name of freedom."

"The Creed isn't like that," he said, raising his defenses. "It's a warning and a guide. An idea or dogma pushed too far will become radicalized and eat itself from the inside out. It's what happened to the Revolution." He licked his lips, staring into her eyes, a frown gracing his lips. "It's what happened to you."

"To me?" she asked, shocked. "Arno!"

"Élise, look what you did in these past five years. Everything was about finding and ending Germain. You admitted to me yesterday you shot Robespierre, who was defenseless, to get your answers."

"He  _knew_  where Germain was hiding! He refused to speak! I had to force his hand!" Élise said, shivering a little.

"He was still defenseless," Arno whispered, pulling her close. "All that we are, Élise, all that we do, begins and ends with ourselves."

"You're getting philosophical on me," she said, poking him in the stomach. "Stop it."

"I'm serious."

"And I trust in the Father of Understanding, in order, direction and purpose," she countered. "The Revolution, I agree, has none of that and Germain wasn't doing a good job either. He riled up a mob and gave them a scapegoat to slaughter."

"Which turned on itself. Don't you see Élise? The ideals of brotherhood, equality, and liberty began as noble ideals, now look at what those ideals got us? Slaughter."

"I understand that Arno," Élise said. "Is that your point?"

"Freedom and order, when taken to extremes aren't good for anyone," he said, and couldn't help but glance down, admiring her alabaster breasts.

"Since when did I have eyes in my chest?" she asked, chuckling a little as she cupped his chin. He looked up, half-smirking.

"Can't help it, you have lovely assets."

"Assets, are they?" She laughed at that. He kissed her. "What are we going to do about the sword?" she asked. "Give it to the Assassins?"

"No," he said, and pushed her off his lap before getting out of bed. He slipped on his breeches and pulled the shirt off the glowing golden sword. He pulled it on, lifted the sword and gave it a few experimental swings. It buzzed and crackled, and he could feel energy pulsating in the weapon, a warm tingling in his hand. It almost felt like the weapon had a soul and it resonated with something deep inside him. He lowered the blade and frowned noticing something at the hilt. "All be damned," he muttered.

"What?" she asked.

"I think something's missing. Looks like the pommel had a jewel of sorts set in it." He touched the socket but nothing happened. "Someone must've taken the jewel."

"Pity, what are you going to do with it?" Élise asked.

He looked around, trying to find a secure place to hide it while they were gone. "Not sure. Hide it naturally, but after…" He shrugged and went over to his chest and opened it. He removed its contents and popped open the false bottom. He placed the sword there. Once he replaced the bottom and restored the items, he locked the chest and looked down at it, hands on his hips. "Well, I supposed that'll do for now. Nobody knows it's here."

"Why don't we take it with us?"

"And risk someone taking it from us? No. It'll be safe here." He turned to her and smiled. "Now we need to get going."

She laughed, slipped from the bed and walked up to him. "We do?" she asked and stole another kiss. "But first, breakfast and then..." she stopped. "How exactly are we going to get there?"

"The Café has a few horses. A small stable, we do have a carriage in the courtyard." He looked at her. "We'll take those."

"Very well." She stretched. "I enjoy horseback riding."

* * *

Franciade, the City of the Dead. Élise pulled on the reins of her mare, the rain splattering down in the streets, mud thick and gloppy beneath her mount's hooves. A depressive miasma clung to the city, the terror and sanguinary violence from Paris clearly spilled over into the city. The Revolution didn't spare Franciade. "Well it… certainly is… depressing," Élise said as they dismounted, tying up their horses. Beggars and potential thieves eyed their healthy mounts. She elbowed Arno and jerked her head at the alley.

"We'll have to risk it." He headed towards the tavern, only to fall behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back. She glanced at him, but said nothing, the murky alleyways reminded her of her childhood, the night Ruddock and that unnamed Assassin attacked her and her mother.

"Did Sade say why he wanted you here?"

"Something about recovering a valuable item," Arno said, watching as a gaggle of women passed by, baskets of loaves in their arms. Élise wrinkled her nose at the stench. "Could a Templar be after it?" Arno asked, side stepping around some suspicious looking muck.

"I don't see how," Élise said, "you killed all the Templars, at least all that had any real power." She eyed him. "My order is crippled Arno. You're rather effective in hunting Templars."

"Thank you." He gave a mock bow. "What about ones that didn't have any power to speak of?" Arno asked. "Not that I think a Templar is after this, but…"

"It's good to be cautious," Élise agreed. "Well, I supposed there could be someone. But, I wouldn't know who. My father kept a roster of members with any amount of clout, but it was destroyed during Germain's coup."

"Pity," Arno said and held the door open for her. The tavern keeper glowered at him, though he seemed to brighten upon seeing Élise.

"If there is anythin' I can get for ya mademoiselle, just let me know," the tavern keeper said. Élise gave him a brittle smile.

"Charmed," she said. The tavern had creaky ceiling beams, a dirt floor, a hearth with a few burning coals and a simmering pot on a spit. Tables spaced evenly about, the men on them dirty as the floor, smelling like hogs. They sipped their horse-piss beer and their almost vinegar wine. A man coughed in a corner, another puffed on his pipe and a third puked off to the side. She swallowed, her palms sticky, the eyes of the men on her. It felt like the time at dockside harbor, when she met Helene. Cocky and naïve, she would've been sold into an unimaginable fate, if it hadn't been for Byron Jackson. "No Byron to save you this time," she muttered.

"Who?" Arno asked, looking at her.

"No one," she said, giving him a quick nod and a flashing smile. "I'm fine." She moved closer to him.

"You seem nervous." He put his hand on the small of her back. The stares of the lecherous men melted away when they noticed Arno's hand on the small of her back, though she could feel their occasional glance.

"Ah, I see you brought Mademoiselle de la Serre with you," Sade said, "forgive me" — he placed a hand on his heart — "Citizeness Serre. You renounce your nobility,  _oui_?" Smiling from where he sat he turned his attention to the grumpy man behind the counter. "Barkeep, your finest vintage for my guests, please." The Marquis dressed to receive for once, since the last time she saw him, he was happily reign as the king of whores, in some slum of Paris. She remembered him asking Arno which would be a more incisive commentary on the corruption in the bishopric: seven nuns seducing a parish priest into debauchery or an enormously endowed Benedictine sodomizing a goat named Pius. "You look dashing as ever my lady."

"You wish I was your lady," Élise replied, a haughty lift of her chin. Arno pulled out her chair and she sat, Arno sat beside her.

"What do you want Sade?" Arno asked. The Marquis smiled and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"There's a manuscript of some value, in the tombs of one of the kings," he said and slid it over to Arno. Arno glanced over the parchment before handing it to Élise. She read it, her eyes widening.

"The Manuscript of Nicolas de Condorcet is in the tomb of Louis IX?" she asked, shocked. She stared at Sade. "Are you sure?"

"That is where my source says it's located," Sade, "of course there has been raids on the tombs since the Revolution is still raging, but that's where Condorcet buried it before his death."

"Morbid fellow," Arno said. "Who's Condorcet, anyway?"

"He was a Freemason," Élise explained.

"Freemason?"

"Boring fellows that have meetings in lodges. They were originally a guild of masons that regulated all the stonemasonry in the known world. They never did reach the might and power of the Assassins or Templars, and they are often quite forgotten," Élise said, "though I heard they had an Apple."

"An Apple?" Arno repeated. "As in an Apple of Eden?"

"Indeed, they brought it to the New World, America, I think. I don't know what became of it," Élise said, she then turned her attention to Sade.

"Will you two assist me?" Sade asked. Élise and Arno glanced at each other, before Arno leaned forward.

"Ten thousand livres," he asked. The Marquis frowned, a soft chuckled escaped his lips.

"And where could I possibly get that amount of money?" Sade sipped his drink.

"Don't lie," Arno hissed, "I know you have that kind of money, Sade. I know that most of the nobility squirreled away enough to rebuild once the peasants were brought to heel. Ten thousand livres."

"Fine," Sade said, "ten thousand livres." He put his hand on Arno's. "You do get passionate when there is something you want. You know, I always found male flesh to be more invigor—"

"We're done here!" Arno drew his hand away and stood up. "Let's go Élise. We have a manuscript to find."

"I'm glad we could come to an arrangement," Sade said. "Though a turn or two in bed with the lovely mademoiselle here would—" Élise grabbed Sade's index finger and bent it back. "—I jest! I jest! Ten thousand livres."

Élise smiled prettily, "Thank you," she said. She stood up and went to Arno's side.

"Did you have to hurt him?" Arno asked as they walked off. Outside, they found that their horses had remained unmolested, the animals pawing at the muddy ground. Élise looked up at the night sky, the clouds dark.

"No, but I am very satisfied that I did," she said. "Come let's go to the necropolis."

"Should be beneath the cathedral."

* * *

Arno caught her as she dropped down into the hole. "I know you are there! Thieving rat, you can't hide forever!" the guard shouted as the couple retreated into the shadows. Élise saw the man lean over holding the lantern aloft in an effort to illuminate every nook and cranny. "Blast," the guard said. "I could have sworn…" he muttered retreating. Élise heard the clink-clank of his armour as he walked away.

"I thought you said you'd distract the guards?" Arno asked, glancing at her.

"And I thought you'd clear out a path so I could enter unseen?" Élise countered, a grin on her face. "Though I admit, it was exhilarating."

"Less blood than last time," Arno quipped, moving into the torch light. "Come, the tomb should be just up ahead, we can get the manuscript and the ten thousand livres and go home."

"And do what with all that money, hmm?" Élise asked, walking abreast with Arno.

"Well… I was thinking of expanding the living quarters of the café. Unless, you want a town house then—"

"Arno," Élise said, a little taken aback, "we aren't even married." Though a bemused smile crept onto her lips.

"I know. I just… thought that… since I was nothing but your father's ward… was… I…"

Élise cut him off with a kiss, one arm slipping around his waist and she walked him up against the wall. "Social status was the France of yesteryear," she breathed against his lips, "besides I would have you even if you were the poorest pauper in Paris."

Arno smiled. "Élise."

"We'll talk about marriage after we hear from your esteemed council and I have my order under control," Élise said.

"Right," he muttered, glancing to the side, disappointment on his face. "Are we ever going… will you want to talk about it?"

"Eventually… yes," Élise said, "I do want to discuss it, but Arno, this isn't the time for such conversations." Élise pulled away from him then, "please understand," she whispered.

"Let's fine this tomb and get out of here," he said. She nodded, took his hand and continued down towards the tombs. Arno's cat-like footsteps fell behind her. They stopped when they found the crypt.

"Which one?" she asked, looking at the tombs of the kings. They appeared undisturbed by looters.

"Why are you asking me?" he arched a brow.

"You were able to track Bellec," she said, "unless that was dumb luck."

"Or a particularly adventurous sewer rat," he added, then narrowed his eyes. "Found it," he said.

"Hopefully the manuscript is where it is and we can leave this dreadful place," Élise said, following Arno. He placed his hands against the stone slab of the sarcophagus and pushed, grunting as he did so. "C'mon Arno, put your back into it," Élise said. Arno stopped and looked at her.

"Do you want to give a try?" he asked. She shook her head and he huffed, pushing it a bit more until they could see the shadowy outline of the dead king. Arno made a face. She peered in over his shoulder, the sarcophagus only containing the king's corpse. " _Merde_ ," he muttered.

"Where is it?" Élise asked. "Sade better not have cheated us."

"No, he likes to play mind games, not double-cross people," Arno said. The froze when they heard footsteps, and the rusty squeak of an iron gate opening.

"The temple door is nearby," a man's voice said, carrying easily through the old necropolis. "Look at the map."

"Élise," Arno hissed, tugging at her arm. She followed him, hiding behind a sarcophagus next to the one he chosen.

"Arno, who—"

"There's nothing here," the authoritative looking man in a bicorn hat said. He slammed the frightened man up against the wall, "you've wasted my time with this fabrication!"

"You call my honor into question?" the first man asked, a nervous fear in his voice. The captain laughed.

"You're honor as a soldier?" he sneered. "Don't make me laugh!" he threw the man to the ground. "You're free to break you contract. But I am also free, and I have savage tastes." The captain's voice was cold and ominous.

"I misspoke  _capitaine_ ," the man said, pushing himself onto his knees. Desperate to save his life he said, "I heard there's a list of all the relics that were looted from the tomb. I can take you to them." The captain turned, his curiosity piqued by this worm's hapless attempt at bargaining. "A fine alternative to the temple," the man said.

The captain stalked towards him, his demeanor changed, a cold ruthlessness washing over him. "That's not what I want." The soldier's eyes flicked about, refusing to look at his captain. "Look me in the eye when I'm speaking to you!" the man's eyes snapped to the captain's face. "Do you want what I want?" the captain asked.

The soldier paused, glancing down, then back up at his captain. "Yes." He said, hoping that agreeing with the man would spare him his life.

"Good," the captain said, giving him a nasty smile, "then we're in agreement." He turned and headed back up the stairs, slamming the rusty gate closed. "Find the temple, and you just may make it back alive." He headed up the stairs, ignoring the man slamming himself against the gate. "Pleasure working with you!"

"Help!" the man shouted. "Help!"

Élise crawled over towards Arno as he slapped a rat away; it went squeaking off into the darkness, altering the frightened man. "Arno?"

"Did I hear something?"

"Élise, stay down and stay quiet," Arno hissed, putting his hand on her back. "We don't want to spook him."

"H-Hello? Is anyone there?" the soldier called. Élise peeked over at him, looking around. He seemed frightened and harmless. "Answer me!" he called.

"What's your plan?" Élise asked as she lowered herself back to the ground. "You aren't going to kill him?"

"No." Arno shook his head. "He's innocent. I'm just going to tackle him and ask him where the relic list is." He looked at her. "Stay here," he said and went towards the man.

"Stay away from me ghost!" he shouted, running off. She heard Arno swear and chase after him. His footsteps faded into the darkness. Élise swallowed. "Arno?" No answer. "Arno!" she called again, standing up. Silence only greeted her. Swallowing, she followed the path Arno had taken. "Arno! Arno, where are you!" she called.

"Élise! Down — follow — voice!"

"Arno, I can't understand you!" She shouted. "Arno, where are you!"

"Follow — voice — Élise!"

"Arno!" she followed the sound of his voice. "Arno, answer me!"

"Élise, down here!" he shouted. Her heart leapt into her throat upon hearing him clearly. "Élise! Follow the sound of my voice!"

"Arno—" she yelped and arms flailing as she tried to maintain her balance. She fell onto her butt and scrambled away from the edge. "Arno?" she stood up, peering over the edge. She saw him down there, a lantern in hand and the soldier dead at his feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, "he's not."

"Really? Couldn't tell." She smiled. "How are you going to get back up here? Is there a way up?"

"Doesn't look like there is one, these walls are too smooth for me to find footholds. I'll have to go onward," he said.

"Do you want me to come down?" she asked. "Will you catch me?"

"I'll always catch you," he said. "But no, go back the way we came and get us an inn room. I have a feeling we'll be here for a while."

She chewed her lip, debating about whether to jump down and stay with him or go back as he asked. She sighed. "Alright," she said. "You be careful, now."

"I will." He smiled at her. "Stay outta trouble."

She gave him a tender smile. "Don't get caught," she added. She stayed there, watching him leave. "Arno!" she called, watching him turn to face her again. She blew him a kiss, smiling when he caught it. He kissed his fist and placed it against his heart. She held his gaze for a few moments before he broke it and headed into the darkness, the golden glow of his lantern bobbing along with each step. "Stay safe my love," she whispered.

* * *

She made it back to the surface, dodged the guards and into the street. A crow cawed, flying overhead. A woman stood on the corner, waving the front page of a newspaper, shouting out the headline at passer-bys. Beggar children held out grubby hands to her, asking only for a mere sou. It was a wretched sight, seeing the grime faces and pot bellies of the children, but she ignored the pang in her heart. She couldn't feed every starving orphan she saw. She made her way back to the tavern where she and Arno met the Marquis. She went to their horses, the poor animals unhappy in the rain. She untied the reins and mounted her mare, leading Arno's along by the reins.

A man gave her directions to an inn with a stable, she thanked him and headed that way. It was a run-down looking place, the Crying Moon or at least that is what the sign said. Élise left the horses outside, tied to a hitching post and entered. The tavern was fuller than earlier that evening, more lecherous men eyeing her, and a small group of suspicious looking huddled closer together. They spoke softly to themselves, glancing at her from time to time. "Citizeness?" the innkeeper asked.

"A room for two for a few nights," Élise said. She pulled out some livre. "With breakfast."

"Breakfast is at seven," the innkeeper said and looked at his book. "I have one room, with a one bed. Is that alright?"

"That's fine," Élise said, paying for the room.

"Name, citizeness?" he asked. "For the books."

"Oh, uh… Dorian," she said, "Élise Dorian." She watched the man scribble her name in the ledger book, putting down the room number, number of nights and the payment. "Could you tell my husband I'm here? He's out with the horses, doesn't trust the stable lad to take care of them probably."

"Wouldn't surprise me," the innkeeper said, "Gaspard was dropped on the head as a babe. Not all there if you ask me." The man nodded. "What does your husband look like?"

"He has warm brown eyes, silky brown hair and—"

"Citizeness, please," the innkeeper said, "just a general description. No need to wax poetry about him."

Élise flushed. "Oh." She glanced down to hide her embarrassment. "My apologies citizen."

"I'm sure your husband is a lucky man to have a wife like you."

"He is." Élise gave the innkeeper a tender smile. "He's tall, broad shoulders and wears a dark blue great coat with a hood, sword at his hip. Brown hair and eyes, stubble on his cheeks and strong jaw. Scar on his left cheek. Keeps his hair tied back and has a red cravat."

"I'll keep my eye out for him then," he said, "I'll send him up when I see him. Enjoy your stay citizeness."

"Thank you," Élise said, smiling at him and then going up to her room, dimly aware of the scrapping of chairs behind her. The stairs creaked as she went up them, and the hallway was gloomy and dim. The door to the room was the last one on the left. The door creaked open as she entered. It was a spares room, with a rickety table and chairs, a decrepit fire place and a narrow bed, hardly large enough for two people, pressed up against the wall. She went over to it, pressing down on the mattress. A whiff of fresh straw came up. "At least he keeps the straw fresh." She already missed Arno's feather mattress at the café.

"Need help warming that bed now citizeness?" a gruff voice asked. She turned, expecting Arno, but terror filled her when she saw the two burly thugs standing in the door way. One held a rope and the other a wicked looking knife. They blocked the door and the only other way out was through the window and she knew she'd break a leg if she went that way.

Her chest rose and fell, her heart pounded out a rapid tattoo against her ribs. Sweaty burly men, grabbed at her, hands pawing at her thighs, butt and between her legs. Their foul breath wafting in her face as they struggled to get her to the carriage, where another girl peered out from dirty hair.  _This isn't like the dockside tavern! You don't need Byron to save you! You can fight! So… fight!_

Élise drew her sword, sliding into a stance, trying to calm her nerves. The men before snickered, rushing her. The big one with the knife rushed her slashing at her belly, but his form was easy to see through, and she blocked. He knew she would and rained down a flurry of furious blows that she had trouble keeping up with. She got a left hook, sending the man staggering back, when his partner flung his rope. The coarse fibered rope fell around her neck and cinched tight. She gasped, dropping her sword to claw at the rope around her neck. The other man gave a tug, pulling her off balance and sending her to the floor.

A breathless whimper escaped her mouth, as the knife-wielding man came towards her again. "No one can hear you scream," he growled into her ear, knees pressing against her sides as he pinned her.

 _No Byron to save you… no Arno either._  Panic coursed along her nerves, and she managed to get one finger between the rope and her throat. It allowed her to suck in small breaths of air. Tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks and her body trembled with fear.

A gurgling sound came from the door way, the man holding the rope crumbling to the floor. "What the—" the man on top of her managed to get out before he gurgled, his hot blood splattering her back and his front. She pulled at the rope, loosening it enough for her to breathe and wiggled out from beneath the dead man.

"Élise! Oh, thank God you're alright!" Arno said, falling to his knees and pulling her into a hug. She shook, holding him and allowing his familiar scent to wash over him. "You're alright, you're alright now, I'm here. You're safe," he cooed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back. She nodded, meekly, trembling.

"Wh-What took you so long?" she asked, once the adrenaline had faded from her system. She looked up at him, worry creasing his brow. She closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I had to go the Abbey of Saint Denis, took a bit longer than I expected," he said, and pulled out a small leather book, "though I did find out where our purloined manuscript went."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he said, pulling her closer. She nodded, not wanting to leave his embrace. "Do you want to stay here?" he asked.

"No, I don't," she said. "We can find another inn."

"I have a better idea," he said, and slipped the book back into his pocket and gently took the rope from around her neck. "It's safe. Nobody will find it."

"Then how come you know about it?" she asked. He gave her a cheeky smile and helped her to her feet. He retrieved her sword.

"I read," he said. "You'll see once we get there."

"So long as there are no thugs, I'll be happy," she said, kicking the body of the knife-wielding man. It bothered her that she was such an easy target, that she couldn't fight back. Arno let her leave to room first before following her. "Can… can you not walk behind me?" she asked, stopping and turning to face him.

"Uh, sure," he said, taking the lead. They stopped only to pay the innkeeper extra for the dead bodies he'll soon discover and left, taking their horses with them.

* * *

She would always wonder about Arno, as he led her through the sewers beneath the city. They came to a door, the symbol of the Assassins emblazoned in bronze, now green with age. Arno picked the lock, and they entered the secret hide away. "So, this is an Assassin bureau," she said looking around as Arno held the lantern loft. She closed the door behind her. "I heard the Brotherhood had these."

"This one's been abandoned for several years. Think they abandoned it in 1710, not sure though. But it'll do for the night, we can find an inn tomorrow." He led her into the large living section. Persian carpets covered the floor and Turkish pillows in the corners. A fire pit in the center to provide warmth. Another room had beds, though this one had a traditional hearth. Cobwebs hung in the corner, dust covered the empty bookshelves. Whatever went on in here, the Assassins had erased all traces.

She followed Arno, who broke down the old shelves for wood and started a fire. She tugged a bed over to another, to create a large bed. "I supposed this'll do for the night," she said.

"Yes, do you want me to see if I can't find something to eat?" he asked. She looked around the dark walls, and shook her head. The ghosts of past Assassins lingered in the room, giving the old bureau a hostile feeling.

"No, I'm fine, we'll find something to eat tomorrow," she said, joining him by the fire. "Who is our thief?"

"Someone named Léon. He lives in the red house near the cemetery," Arno said, slipping his arm around her waist. She sighed, leaning against him. "We'll look for him tomorrow."

"Yes," she agreed, "we should get some sleep now." She pulled away from him and sat on the bed, tugging off her boots and remove her sash and belts. She stared at her sword, frowning, unhappy that she was unable to defend herself. Her hand rubbed her throat, causing her to wince.

"Are you okay?" he asked, causing her to turn to face him. Her cheeks colored, realizing he was watching her.

"I'm fine Arno." Taking her shirt off, she removed her corset and crawled into bed, determine to put the attack behind her.

"I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner," he said, "I didn't know which inn you'd chosen and I had to track you with my vision and—"

"You saved me." She rolled over, smiling at him. "That's all that matters. Come to bed, I want to fall asleep in your arms tonight."

He smiled at her, getting up and stripping down to his breeches and shirt, joining her in bed. A content sigh escaped her lips as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt, happy to feel his skin against her palm. The fire popped causing her to jerk up, but Arno pushed her back down. "Rest Élise, I'm here."

She nodded, drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And thus chapter two ends. :3
> 
> I followed the opening of Dead Kings loosely (as Arno has no reason to drink at a tavern for days on end).
> 
> Next chapter they meet Léon. I'm still not sure if they adopt him or not. Well? Tell me if you think they should adopt Léon or not?
> 
> I dropped the "de" in "de Sade." "The use of the particle 'de,' which simply means 'of,' is often a sign of a noble family. A man with this sort of name is addressed as 'Monsieur de Cygne,' or spoken of as 'Jean de Cygne.' But when using the family name or title, we do not need the particle. Just as in English we may refer to the Duke of Wellington as 'Wellington,' we should properly say 'Cygne,' rather than 'de Cygne.' In the case of French names, however—expect when speaking of the most famous historical figures—it has become common nowadays to add the particle even where it's not needed" (Rutherford, 740, Paris: The Novel). Basically, back in the Revolution, Arno and Élise would have just referred to "de Sade" as "Sade" or the "Marquis de Sade." For this reason, I have chosen to dropped the particle 'de' when referring to the character, as this would be more in line with how they would have spoken (based on the above information) in the Revolution. Plus, Sade is an extremely laxed bastard when it comes to formalities with Arno. Also, go read Paris: The Novel, amazing book.
> 
> I added an old abandoned Assassin bureau to Franciade, because I backed myself into a corner when I had Élise attacked at the inn she and Arno were going to stay at. So… the bureau (plus I like the bureau idea).
> 
> Save an author; leave a review! (Like seriously, I really want to hear what you have to say about the story, my interpretation of the characters, your favorite part, things that I could improve on.)
> 
> -Nemo
> 
> PS: I edited shit.


	3. To Catch a Thief

Élise awoke sometime pass noon. Voices drifted up through the cracked window: merchants hawking their wares, a woman shouting about a cutpurse, a deranged man rabblerousing about how the end is nigh, children laughing in the streets, guards bolstering their way down the lane; Franciade was alive with people. Élise snuggled deeper into the warm confines of the quilts.

The bed was much too narrow and stuffed with straw. She doubted that the straw had been changed recently, and she feared there may be bed-bugs. The quilts on the bed were serviceable and the pillows fluffed with straw. Élise could already feel a kink in her neck forming, the thought caused her to rub her neck with a grimace.

The only positive thing she could think of about her sleeping arrangement was how close she was to Arno. Élise looked at him, one hand loosely clasping hers, his other near his face curled into a slack fist. Some of his dark hair fell into his face, he needed to shave when he woke, and his lips were parted a bit in his sleep. Élise watched him sleep, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Élise reached out with her free hand and brushed some of his hair back; tracing the contours of his face. Her fingers lingered on the visible portions of his scar. He never told her how he acquired it, and she never asked. Though now she felt like she should. Her fingers traveled to the calcified lump where the break was; Arno stirred and she withdrew her hand like a bashful virgin. "Don't stop," Arno mumbled. "It felt nice."

"Morning," she whispered, as Arno shifted onto his back with a content sigh. He pulled her close, draping an arm around her, stroking her hip gently. Élise smiled and traced nonsense patterns on Arno's chest. "We should get up and look for Léon," Élise said, going back to tracing Arno's scar.

"Mmm." Arno lifted her other hand and kissed her wrist. "In a minute."

Élise rested her head on Arno's chest and he began to run his fingers through hair. She could hear his heart, _lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub…_ the sound was steady and soothing. She snuggled closer to him, kissing his skin. "I love you, Arno," she whispered, "so much."

Arno stilled, dropping a ruby curl. Élise looked up at him, a bit taken aback by his expression. "Arno?" she asked softly. He sat up and cupped her face before kissing her. Élise sighed, hands resting against his chest as his lips massaged hers, his tongue stroking hers. His kiss sent shivers down her spine and stoked a fire in her gut and loins. Arno guided her back onto the mattress, and they broke apart to gasp for breath.

"I love you, too, Élise," Arno whispered, before kissing her again, his hand trailing down her stomach. Élise moaned, though it was muffled by Arno's mouth, when his hand found what it sought.

"We aren't getting out of bed any time soon are we?" she asked, between kisses.

"No," Arno said, a wicked good grin on his face, the spark of lustful desire in his eyes. Élise chuckled, tangling her fingers in Arno's hair. She pulled him down into another needy kiss.

* * *

 

They laughed as they gathered up their discarded clothes, after enjoying each other's company, before heading down to find that the innkeeper had generously saved them some cold dinner from the previous evening to break their fast. Arno gave the innkeeper another five livres to go along with the gold livre they had paid with, originally. They ate in companionable silence before heading out into the rainy afternoon.

The rain just made everything smell worse, Élise decided, as they walked down the street towards Madame Margo's Home for Foundlings. The populace of Franciade were covered in filth and other muck, yet their eyes peered out brightly from beneath the grime. She and Arno stuck out like sore thumbs with their clean clothes. They reached the orphanage in short order; there were no children playing in the streets around it, Élise wandered around the back, but it was empty as the streets as well.

"If you're looking for Léon," an old woman said, "he likes to play by the windmill." Élise turned to see Arno speaking to the old woman. Élise drifted over to Arno's side.

" _Merci_ ," Arno said, his voice fragile and soft. Élise took his hand, staring at the woman.

"If you find him," the old woman said, "tell him to come home. If he gives you trouble tell him Madame Margo sent you."

"We will," Élise said, smiling at the old woman. Madame Margo smiled back.

"Tell him he's missed," Madame Margo said. Arno and Élise nodded, before walking off.

They wove through the streets, making their way to the windmill that sat upon a hill that over looked the farmland of the city. Arno pulled Élise down behind the wall. "Arno," Élise hissed, landing besides him. "What wa—" he clapped a hand over her mouth, before pointing with his other hand.

Looters.

Not just any looters but the same looters they encountered while snooping around beneath the cathedral the other day. Shabby looking men and boys, all with a Revolutionary extremist, the same men that Germain had employed to cause discord in the Parisian streets, while he did his dirty work from the shadows.

Élise pulled Arno's hand away from her mouth. "What are they doing here?" she hissed. "Who's employing them?"

"I don't know," Arno whispered. "Doesn't look like Léon is here."

"God damn brat!" an extremist shouted, his voice coming from the tunnel that led into the catacombs.

"Well, I guess we know where Léon is now," Arno said, a smile tugging at his lips. Élise glowered at him, before smacking him upside the head.

"He could be anywhere in those catacombs, Arno! Do you know how many _miles_ those tunnels twist and turn beneath Franciade?" Élise hissed, as Arno rubbed the back of his head.

"We'll find him, Élise," Arno said. "If he's giving them a hard time, I'm assuming he'll be near where they are digging."

"Alright, next question: how do you suppose we get to that entrance?" Élise asked. Arno jerked his head to the side.

"We sneak around, I give you a boost up over the wall, and we meet on top of the building that leads into the ground," Arno said.

"I have a better idea," Élise said. "I'll distract them, draw them away, you make a run for the entrance, I lose them and double back. We'll meet up in the catacombs."

"Oh no," Arno said, a forced laugh escaping his lips, his hand shooting out to grab her bicep. "I'm _not_ letting you repeat that apple orchard again." He shook a finger at her.

Élise leaned in close, their noses almost touching, a playful smirk on her lips. "Stop being such a baby, Arno," she teased, "everything will be fine." Arno rolled his eyes and Élise had to stifle a giggle. It brought back fond memories of their childhood, of sneaking about and pulling pranks on the staff, desserts and hedge mazes, a snow-locked castle with a library full of books in German, and a highly gullible superstitious cook.

"I had nightmares about those dogs for a week, Élise, a week!" Arno hissed. Élise looked at him, that mischievous glint never leaving her eye. "We're doing this _my_ way, this time."

"Alright," she agreed, haughtily. "Impress me," she said, gesturing to the men milling about, "with your oh so clever plan, Monsieur Assassin."

Arno sighed, lowering his head as he shook it. "Your mockery isn't appreciated," he replied, his smile mirroring hers. "We're going to do it like that one time, remember, we were in the palace of Versailles, and we happened upon a platter of fresh baked cookies," Arno said, a twinkle in his eyes. Élise nodded.

"Oh, I remember, you found your way back rather quick," Élise teased, "afraid I was going to eat your share of the cookies."

"You left me in that hedge maze for six hours and ate my half of the dessert! I'd be damned if I was going to let you eat my share of the cookies!" Arno griped. "You remember how we did it?"

She snorted, "Of course I remember!" She gave him a little shove on the arm. "Go on now Arno, act like you can whistle," she said, grinning. He returned the expression, before he sprinted out from their hiding place. He pulled his glove off, stuck his thumb and index finger in the corner of his mouth and… attempted to whistle. Élise rolled her eyes, stuck her own thumb and index finger into her mouth and let loose an ear-piercing whistle.

Heads turned, they saw Arno, who still had his fingers in his mouth. He bolted when he realized they were staring at him. Élise covered her mouth, giggling a little bit. It reminded her of better days, when she and Arno were children. She watched as the men ran after Arno, before rising a bit to peek over the ledge. Not a guard in sight. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no stragglers would notice her before vaulting over the wall and running to the entrance. She picked up an abandon torch and descended into darkness.

* * *

 

Arno never caught up with her, at some point she took a wrong turn, twisted her ankle on a loose pebble and fell down a hole. She hit her head on something and blacked out for a spell. She only awoke when someone splashed water on her face. "Oh good," a child's voice said, "you're awake. I thought you might be dead."

"Where am I?" Élise asked, sitting up and touching her head, she felt the sticky remains of blood. She wiped the water off her face. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Léon," the child said, and pulled into view a lantern, which illuminated the small cavern and each other.

"Élise," she said, absently as she stood up. Staring at the boy for several long seconds. "You said your name is Léon?"

" _Oui_ ," the boy said. Élise's eyes narrowed, and she grabbed him by his biceps and shook him.

"You're the bloody little thief Arno and I are tracking!" Élise seethed. "How dare you have the audacity to show up now!" she shook him again. "Where is it? Tell me!"

Léon yelped in surprise, pulling away from Élise's grip. "What are you talking about?" Léon asked, glaring at her. "What are you, crazy?"

"The manuscript that you stole from the grave of King Louis IX!" Élise said, "So where is it?"

"I hid it," Léon said, lifting his chin. "And I'm not gonna tell you where it is. _And_ I didn't steal it. Someone took it and I stole it from them."

"So you _did_ steal it then?" Élise pointed out, her voice heated. Léon pursed his lips out in a definite manner.

"No, I liberated it."

Élise growled, gripping the air as she stared at him for several long moments before pacing about in the circle. She rubbed her forehead, muttering to herself, rationalizing the events. She paused, staring up at the darkness overhead. "Alright," Élise said, turning to Léon, nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. "Let's strike a deal."

"Go on," Léon said. "I'm listening."

"What do you want in exchange for giving me the manuscript?" Élise asked. "I'm sure Arno will agree—"

"Wait?" Léon stopped her. "Arno? As in Arno Dorian? The Freedom Fighter from Paris? You know him?"

"Yes," Élise said, a little bemused smile on her lips, "quiet well in fact."

"Whoa!" Léon breathed, eyes widening in awe as he stared at Élise. "That's… fantastic! Arno Dorian is so amazing! He can fight twenty men on his own! He escaped the Bastille all by himself and then turned around and stormed it to free everyone else! He single-handedly put an end to the Reign of Terror!" Élise frowned at that, since that was an obvious lie. "I heard he rescued the prince and seduced the princess!" Élise arched a brow, wondering where that rumor sprung up, since Arno was nothing but devoted to her. "He also holds himself to the ancient code of chivalry. I heard he can vanish in a blink, jump all the way to the top of Norte Dame in a single bound, run as fast as the wind and slip out of a guard's grasp like water!" Léon declared, a wide grin on his face. "So… what's he like? I heard he's aloof and brooding, very serious and focused. No a drop of humor in him at all." Léon chewed his lip, trying to think of any other tales he may have heard. "Oh, yeah! He's also in love with a royalist."

Élise blinked thrice, before giving a rather amused snort, utterly baffled about the rumors that swirled around Arno. She wondered how Arno would react to the stories about him or the fact a small boy idolizes him to such an extent. _He'd probably laugh._ "Well," Élise said, "you should ask him that yourself. I'm here with him."

"Really? You're here with him?" Élise watched as Léon's eyes got wide as dinner plates. "A-Are… Are you his partner?" then he shook his head. "No, Arno Dorian works alone," he nodded vigorously. "You're his sister? Or Lover? Wife? His student?"

Élise flushed, glad the light was dim enough to hide her cheeks coloring. She gave a small nervous giggle, and rubbed her forehead, wincing when she touched the wound. "So, Léon, what are you doing down here?"

"Hiding," the boy said, a mischievous grin on his face, he handed her the handkerchief that he pulled from his pocket. "Here, for your head," he said.

"Thank you," Élise said, accepting the handkerchief and blotting the blood on her head. It was tender, but the cut felt small and there was no intense pain around the cut. A minor injury that would be gone in a few days-time. "Why are you hiding?"

"Rose doesn't like it that I'm trying to sabotage everything," the boy said, "he's the one that Napoleon put in charge of the dig here. Napoleon is looking for something… something that'll spell France's doom!"

"Wait… Napoleon is here?" Élise asked, lowering the handkerchief. She wondered how Arno will take the news that his friend was behind the excavation. Léon nodded. "What am I going to tell Arno?"

"Captain Philippe Rose is the man he has in charge of the entire dig. I'm doing my best to hinder them, but I can only do so much by myself," Léon said. "That's my half of the deal. You and the legendary Arno Dorian, help me save France and I'll give you the manuscript."

* * *

 

Élise had ducked into the shadows as soon as they burst into the torch-lit chamber. She tried to grab Léon, to pull him into the shadows, but the child squirm from her grip and confronted the guards. Now she watched, in the shadows, as the guards held Léon. She spotted Captain Philippe Rose and her eyes narrowed in anger as the man slapped the poor boy.

A shadow moved above, Élise glanced up, but it wasn't Arno, just a scuttling rat. She tried to spot other moving shadows but was unable to. "Captain Rose," Napoleon said, walking out of the shadows. Élise gripped the rock, wanting to rush in and confront Napoleon. She held her ground though. Napoleon pulled out a key, or what Élise assumed was a key since it was the strangest key she had ever seen. "I want you to find me the door that this key unlocks," Napoleon said.

"Aye, Commander," Rose agreed.

"You'll doom France!" Léon shouted, struggling against his captors. "I won't let you get away with it!"

"Ah." Napoleon turned to see Léon, "so this is our petite saboteur?"

"'Tis sir," Rose said. "What do you want us to do with him?" Napoleon walked up to the boy and grabbed his face.

"You think I'm trying to destroy France, little man?" Napoleon asked. Léon glowered at the military commander, before he nodded as best he could. Napoleon laughed. "Foolish boy, your naïveté is to be expected however," Napoleon said and let Léon go, "I understand the minds of men. I understand that men are nothing more than sheep to be herded and guided, that a strong handed shepherd is needed."

"And you think you're that shepherd, Napoleon?" Élise hissed, stepping out of the shadows, sword drawn and level at Napoleon's throat. "Let the boy go." _The Templars are the true shepherds of this world._

"Mademoiselle de la Serre," Napoleon purred, turning away from Léon. "What a pleasure to see you."

"Like wise," Élise said, her words dripping sarcasm as her mouth quirked into a flippant smirk. "Let the boy go, Napoleon, I won't ask again."

"Oh, I didn't think you would," Napoleon said, a viper's smirk on his lips as a guard stepped up behind Élise, cocked his pistol and pressed it against her head. "Sheath your weapon and you may live. I'd hate to sully my friendship with Arno by splattering your brains all over this," Napoleon looked around, "place."

Élise swallowed, her body relaxed, her heartbeat steady. She felt the subtle shift in the air, her skin tingling. Tiny pebbles fell down, their clatter too soft for the untrained ear to hear. The near-silent scuff of a boot, the almost inaudible intake of breath before a leap. The fluttering snap of his coat as the air ruffled the fabric as he fell, the snick of his hidden blade being engaged.

_Arno!_

Élise struck as Arno landed on the man behind her, her blade flashing towards Napoleon's nose. He backed up, his guard engaging her. She noted he held his hand to his chin, he pulled his fingers away and swore like the soldier he is, when they came away bloodied. Élise allowed herself a little smirk.

A loud clang near her head startled her, causing her to almost lose her footing. She recovered, parrying her attacker's strike. She glanced behind her to see Arno head butt her assailant, pivot on his right foot and position himself at her back. "What took you so long?" Élise asked, side stepping before bringing her sword up in a backhanded upward stroke.

"I'll refrain from asking if you're alright," Arno said. "And it's a bloody maze down here!"

"Still no excuse for an Assassin," Élise grunted as a thug slammed his sword down against hers with all the force he could muster. She pulled out her dagger and slammed it into his belly. He grunted, staggering back as she pulled it free and slashed it across his throat. Hot blood sprayed her; the man gurgled and died.

Élise ducked around another attack, slashing down and stabbing another charging man in the throat with her dagger. She took a step back meeting Arno's back. He grunted softly at the unexpected impact. "Are you alright, by the way?" he asked, peeking over his shoulder. She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed from the physical demands of combat, but a smile was on her face.

"Never better," she replied, before moving with him as they spun around their axis. The thugs were trying to drive her and Arno apart, realizing that they had a better advantage together. The sword whirled, ringing aloud as steel kissed steel. Élise felt a oneness with Arno unlike she'd ever experience save perhaps when they made love.

They moved fluidly, their movements synchronized. They moved about with their backs close, taking the onrushing thugs with ease. Napoleon and slipped away during the chaos, Élise noted. She ground her teeth in fury; more men fled as they realized how badly outmatched they were. A yelp echoed over the din of combat, drawing Élise's attention. Her eyes widen as she saw Léon elbowed his captor in the groin and wriggled free before rushing off towards the darkness. "Léon!" Élise shouted, breaking away from Arno and running after the child.

Arno turned watching her leave, his eyes growing wide. "Élise!" he bellowed, but she didn't slow, red curls bouncing as each step took her further away. "Merde," he growled, grabbing a handful of bombs, lighting their fuses and tossing them. Some billowed up, flashes of brilliant light appeared and thunderous bangs echoed. Arno squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his hood forward as far as possible, and clapped his hands over his ears. He waited three heart beats, before opening his eyes.

He squinted, finding Élise's distinctive golden aura head into a tunnel. He sheathed his blade and sprinted towards it. A thug stumbled into his path, with a well-practiced flick of his wrist, Arno slammed his hidden blade into the man's chest. The man gurgled, coughing blood; Arno pulled his blade free, stumbling a bit as he regained his footing and continued on towards the exit and Élise.

Arno trotted down the path, bypassing a small outcropping just before the tunnel entered into another cavern. A hand shot out grabbing him and pulling him down, a slim hand covering his mouth. He struggled briefly, until he recognized his captor. He pulled the hand away from his mouth, "Élise," Arno whispered. She offered him a tiny smile before pressing a finger to her lips, miming silence. Arno frowned, but she allowed him to sit up.

Arno crouched besides her. He squinted, the auras springing up: five men, two at the entrance two holding the boy and one talking with the boy. Arno blinked, rubbing at his temples. He gave a soft hiss. "Are you alright?" Élise whispered. He nodded. "He's trapped Arno."

"I know," Arno replied with a sigh, "I'm surprised you didn't rush them."

"I'm not going to risk Léon's life," Élise hissed, she grabbed Arno's arm. "We have to help him!"

"And we will," Arno agreed.

"They could be killing him right now, Arno!" Élise hissed. Arno squinted again. There seemed to be an argument going on between one of the boy's restrainers and the man with the knife.

"We don't have much time," Arno said, blinking away the auras, "we need a plan. We can't just go rushing in there. Your impatience to help is going to lead to recklessness which leads to injury," he said. He shifted to look at her, gently putting his hands on her shoulders, a warm smile on his lips. "I admire your drive to help this boy, but let's use our heads so all three of us come out of this alive."

"I am not impatient nor reckless," Élise said, shrugging his hands off her shoulders, then she pouted when Arno arched a brow. "I'm not!" she protested.

"Dear heart, I love you, but sometimes you… do rush on ahead half-cock," Arno said. He glanced over his shoulder at the mouth of the cavern."Remember, that one time with the ducks? We were thirteen and—"

"Alright, Arno, alright!" Élise huffed, ceding defeat. "You win. So, what's your brilliant plan?" She asked, glowering at him. She hated admitting she was wrong.

"I saw five men. Two at the entrance, two holding the boy and a third wielding a knife. I doubt they'll kill Léon immediately, there seems to be a disagreement from what I can tell with my vision. This buys us some time to sneak in and get a better lay of the ground."

"Well," Élise said, smiling at Arno. "Plan should be simple then: We take out the two men guarding the entrance together, then one of use provides the distraction, while the other rescues Léon."

"Yes, but who provides the distraction?" Arno asked. Élise gave an impish smirk. Arno's eyes grew wide. "Oh no."

"Oh, why not?" Élise asked, placing a hand on his chest. There was a gleam of seduction and defiance in her blue-green eyes as her hand snaked up his chest to cup his neck. Arno blinked. "Have you forgotten my skill with a blade so quickly, Arno?" she cooed. Arno swallowed thickly.

"Of course I haven't Élise, its just—"

"It'll be better for me to distract them. You are the master of stealth between the two of us," Élise said, she leaned in close, his knees gave out and he caught himself on his hands before his butt thudded softly against the ground. Élise smirked at him, before straddling his hips. She pecked his lips. He returned the tiny kiss reflexively. "Besides its _just_ five men, _and_ you're there to assist me — not that I am going to need assistance mind you — if anything gets out of hand."

Arno hissed when she pressed her hips against his with a feather light force. Her thumb stroked the spot where his ear and jaw met. She gave him another kiss, and pressed her hips against his with a bit more force. His breath hitched in his throat, one hand going to the small of her back, to increase the pressure. "Élise," he growled, throaty and wanting. A spark glinted in her eyes as he said that and she pulled away from him.

"Well?" she asked, a cocksure smirk on her rosebud lips as she stood up, taking a step back to keep to the shadows. Arno gave a dry laugh, as he stood up.

"Alright," he said, giving in. "You win, Élise," he looked her up and down, "I'm starting to realize what your father meant about you wielding your beauty as a weapon." He tugged at his pants uncomfortably, glancing away when Élise gave him a wicked good smirk.

"A woman must use all the tools at her disposal," Élise said. "Come, the longer we wait the greater the risk is to Léon's life."

"Agreed," Arno said, and the two of them rushed off into the darkness.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Edit: Redid this chapter, and omg it is so much better! :D I'm really happy with the banter between Arno and Élise. It really feels like they are a team, working together and hopeful after Germain's death.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> -Nemo
> 
> PS: When you review, please tell me what you liked about the chapter, favorite part and if there is anything I can improve on. :)
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> -Nemo
> 
> PS: When you review, please tell me what you liked about the chapter, favorite part and if there is anything I can improve on. :)


	4. Dented Armour

The two guards sighed softly as they died. Arno removed his blade, and slipped his hands beneath the man's armpits, dragging him into the tunnel, Élise did the same with her man, though clutched her dagger's hilt between her teeth. They laid the dead men down with gentleness as to not cause too much noise, before heading back to the mouth and pressing up against the sides. "Wait for my signal," Arno whispered.

"And what will it be?" Élise asked. Arno brought his hand and flicked it towards him in a _towards me_ gesture. Élise nodded, before glancing back at the three men left. There seemed to be deep in discussion, one didn't want to kill the boy, while the one with the knife did.

"Orders from Rose," the knife-wielder growled.

"Napoleon said to bring him to the surface," one of the captors protested.

"Damn what Napoleon said," the knife-wielder spat. Arno snorted, glad the two men were going around in circles, gave him a chance to study the sarcophagi in the chamber. Élise shifted forward, impatient.

"Wait," he hissed, holding up his hand to stop her. She scowled at him, and he met her glare, watching as her twitched into a smirk when his eyes began to rove over her body. He still was irked by her little trick she pulled. Élise winked at him, and he glanced away. Surreptitiously, he tugged at the crotch of his pants, adjusting himself. Élise giggled and Arno felt his cheeks color. He glanced at her and she blew a kiss at him. He rolled his eyes, waving his hand at her in dismissal. "Remember, wait for my single," he whispered. She nodded, and he pulled his hood up, "and stick to the shadows," he added, before slipping into the darkness.

Arno snuck along the edge of the wall, slipping from shadow to shadow. He scuttled to the sarcophagus nearest where the boy was held. His boots scrapped against the stones, the sound oddly loud in the small cavern. "The ghosts of the kings," Léon whispered. Arno rolled his eyes, baffled at his own carelessness.

"So much for the element of surprise," Arno grumbled, he hoped Élise wouldn't blunder like he did. He glanced over his shoulder, and caught a flash of red as Élise slipped into the darkness to come at an angle of the boy's captors.

"G-G-Ghosts?" one of the men stammered looking about the cavern, half-expecting to see an ethereal specter float out from the wall. Arno snorted, rolling his eyes as he snuck towards the man. He made a note of the cell ahead of him.

"There's no such things as ghosts, Jacques," the knife-wielder said. "Little brat just sayin' things so we don't gut him."

Arno glanced in the direction where Élise was, and sure enough, she had taken the temporary distraction to sneak closer. _Almost in position, good._ Arno thought.

"I heard somethin' Enzo," Jacques said. "Heard something sneakin' about in the shadows."

"Ya're hearin' things Jacques, there's nothing in this pit save for us, the boy and these corpses," Enzo grumbled, and adjusted the grip on his dagger. Arno peeked over the tomb he hid behind; saw that Élise peeking over her hiding spot. Their eyes locked and he gave her the smallest of nods, a subtle move of his head. She returned the gesture and they both ducked back down. "Now, hold 'im all still like so I can slice his throat quick and clean."

"I'd refrain from doing that," Élise said, popping up from her hiding place. Arno peeked to see her, walking boldly towards the three men, sword in hand. The tip level at the knife-wielder's throat. "Let the boy go," Élise snarled, " _now_."

Arno ducked back down as the protests and questions came, he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, before vaulting over the tomb, flicking his wrist blade free and slammed his blade into the knife-wielder's back. He heard the soft pop-hiss of a punctured lung. He pulled his blade free, knowing the man had moments to live. Élise had stuck her sword through the one called Jacques. Léon pulled free from his last captor and slid into the cell, the rusty door slamming shut. Freed from his duty, the third of Léon's captors bolted. Arno pressed the button on his gauntlet, the tiny crossbow snapping open. He took aim at the fleeing man, before pressing the second button, releasing the bolt.

He heard the man gurgle on his last breath as he died.

"Élise!" Léon shouted, shoving the cell door open and running towards her. Arno arched a brow as Élise staggered a bit from the boy's collision with her; he wrapped his arms around her. "I knew you'd come for me, I knew it!"

Élise smiled at that, awkwardly patting Léon's head. "Of course," Élise said. Arno retrieved his dart from the dead man's neck and cleaned it on the corpse's clothes. He headed back to where Élise and the boy were.

"Alright," Arno folded his arms over his chest and looked down at the boy, an amused half-smile on his lips, "we rescued you. You owe us," Arno said.

"And you were amazing! He didn't even know you were behind him and when the other tried to run…" Léon mimed firing a phantom blade, "pow! Right in the neck!" He said with a grin, then blinked a few times before frown. "Are you… _really_ …" Léon turned to Élise. "Is that… is that him? _The_ Arno Dorian?" Léon asked, his eyes wide in awe. Élise nodded.

"Élise, what's going on here?" Arno asked, he glanced over his shoulder, to make sure Rose didn't come or send one of his goons to investigate.

"You're even better than the stories!" the boy shouted. Arno gave an amused snort.

"That's because the stories aren't real," he said, though a smirk blossomed on his face. "How do you even know my name, little man?"

"Everyone knows who you are!" Léon shouted. "Arno Dorian, the Freedom Fighter from Paris! You single handedly stopped the Reign of Terror! You saved the prince and seduced the princess! You vanish in an eye blink, can leap to the top of Notre Dame in a single bound, uncatchable by the guards! And," Léon paused for dramatic effect, "you have a forbidden romance with a royalist." Léon finished.

Arno stared at the boy, before pinching the bridge of his nose. A sound that was a mixture of a sigh and a chuckle escaped his lips. "Where in god's name did you hear this?" He didn't need the Assassin Council finding out about these rumors.

"All the soldiers talking about him in the taverns," Léon said, he looked away ashamed, "I'm not supposed to sneak out at night, but I do. To listen to the soldiers, that've fought around France."

"I'm sure they have better things talk about than _me_ ," Arno chuckled. Arno wouldn't admit it, but he was a bit pleased, his exploits have been turned into stories. Arno glanced at Élise, smiling at her, and giving a disbelieving shake of his head.

Élise smiled, bemused. She leaned in close to Léon and whispered, "Why don't you give him a big hug."

Arno staggered back as Léon rushed him, wrapping his small arms around his waist. Arno grunted, but a warm smile crept over his lips. He wrapped one arm around the boy's shoulders, and his other ruffled the boy's head. "You know, I didn't do all those things alone," Arno said, he looked at Élise, eyes filled with tenderness.

"No," Léon looked up at him with complete disbelief. "But the stories! Every story said you were… amazing! You can kill twenty men single handedly!"

Arno laughed at that. "Five on a good day," he said. "And I'm serious, Élise helped stop the Reign of Terror with me. So, don't give me all the credit."

"I think some stories said your royalist lover helped," Léon muttered, "but I still think you're amazing!"

"Thank you," Arno chuckled, a smile creeping over his lips, "I'm flattered. I didn't know I was so idolized."

"You are," Léon said. "Élise said you'll help me protect France! Captain Rose wants whatever Napoleon is looking for. I'll give you the manuscript you're looking for in exchange."

"Making deals with street urchins without me, eh?" Arno said, looking over at Élise. She blushed, looking away. "Well, since she so graciously agreed to involve me, I guess I have no choice." He let go of Léon, patted him on the shoulders and said, "You obviously know the way out," he said, "so, lead on _capitaine_."

Léon grinned, sprinting a few feet ahead. "Alright, this way!" Léon shouted, before rushing off ahead. He and Élise fell in step behind Léon. Élise glanced at him and he have her a lopsided smile.

"I didn't know you were good with kids," she said. He blinked, a bit taken aback.

"I'm… not?"

Élise chuckled. "You are. You'll make a good father one day," Élise said with a smile. She rubbed his back, between the shoulder blades, before allowing it to trailer lower. Arno stopped walking, taking her hand from his back and holding it. Élise stared at him, a quizzical look on her face.

"Élise, about that, I…" Arno said, licking his lips. He wasn't sure how to tell her that he wanted children, not after she so thoroughly rejected his proposal, even after they promised each other they'd get married when they were grown. He didn't think he could stomach her rejection of having a family with him. He squeezed her hand tightly and tried to find the answers he sought in her gaze. He smiled then. "Never mind," he gave her hand a squeeze, "we'll talk about this later."

"Hey," Léon shouted, peeking around the corner, "hurry up so we can leave before Rose gets here! You two can get all mushy later!" he waved them over towards the bend of the tunnel.

"We better… uh… follow him," Élise said, pulling her hand free from Arno's and going after the boy. Arno sighed, following Élise and Léon.

* * *

It was dark by the time they crawled out of the tunnels beneath Franciade. "So, what's the plan? How are we going to defeat Rose?" Léon asked, as they walked back towards the orphanage via the backstreets.

" _Élise_ and _I_ will be handling Rose," Arno said. "You are to go back to the orphanage."

"But what about France? I know those tunnels, I can help!" Léon protest, running ahead. He forced them to stop, staring at them with an earnest expression on his face. "Please, let me help."

"No, it's dangerous," Arno said. "These men will kill you, they already tried to today."

"But I escaped," the boy countered.

"Only because of Arno and I," Élise said, looking at him. "Arno's right about the dangerous. This is not a game of soldiers, Léon. Arno and I have had years of combat training."

"And we don't need a child getting in our way. We will stop by the orphanage and keep you posted though," Arno said, he tried to smile to ease the rejection, "We want you to stay safe."

"Madame Margo said she misses you, and that she wants you to come home," Élise said, her voice motherly.

Léon rolled his eyes. "Madame Margo never lets me have any fun."

"Our answer is still no," Arno said. "Now, we'll take you back to the orphanage and—"

"I saw someone die before! I'm not afraid of a fight! I practice the sword out back!" Léon said. "Please, I want to help."

"We could use a guide Arno," Élise muttered, chewing her lip. "I could always hang back, make sure nothing happens to him."

"No," Arno said, shaking his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. He could draw us a map of the tunnels, if need be."

Élise gave Léon an apologetic smile but the boy was staring at his feet. "I hate you," Léon whispered, snapping his head up to glower at both of them. "One thing about the stories that were true, you rather work alone," he added, before running off.

"Wait, Léon! I—" Arno called, reaching for the boy but Léon had already vanished around a corner. "I'm sorry," Arno whispered, before looking at Élise. She rubbed her arm and tried to give Arno an encouraging smile.

"It's for the best Arno," Élise said, "he's a child. He shouldn't be getting into these things," she stared at the corner where Léon had vanished, "let him have his innocence as long as possible. Let's not… shatter it."

"I know, I know," Arno whispered, walking up to her. He ran his hand along her back in a soothing manner, "best keep him out of this hidden war we both belong to, right?" He gave her a small smile. Élise turned towards Arno, her arms slipping around his waist. He embraced her, stroking her hair.

"I was eight Arno," Élise whispered, "my mother and I were in Paris. Shopping for shoes. Our carriage didn't pull up after we were done. Mother… she pretended nothing was amiss and took me by the hand and we went off looking for a carriage. Eventually we got cornered by two men, one was an Assassin. Mother killed one, frightened the Assassin off." Élise stopped, rubbing her nose against Arno's chest. She took a breath and let it out in a huff. "I was told that night that my mother and father were Templars, my father the Grand Master, and I was his heiress. I would become Grand Master after him."

"I'm sorry, Élise," Arno said, "I… I didn't know."

Élise pulled away, rubbing at her eyes and smiled at him. "My life changed forever that day, but it also changed again, when I met you in December the following year." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "That was a good change."

"My life changed forever too that day," Arno agreed, he reached out and stroked her cheek. "For better and for worse."

"Come, let's head back to the inn, I'm hungry," Élise said and gave his hand a little tug. Arno smiled, following her.

* * *

They returned to the inn and took their meal to their room. It was a pork stew that the innkeeper's wife made. The room was quiet as they ate, both lost in their own thoughts. Arno shoved some stew into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, before saying, "I need to get you back for that little trick you pulled in the tunnels."

"What trick?" Élise asked, looking up at him with a blank expression on her face. Arno chuckled, before taking another bite, a smile on his lips.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Mademoiselle de la Serre," he said. He leaned over the small table, pulling her close, until his lips brushed her ear. "I _want_ you, Élise," he purred, before kissing the spot where her cheek and ear met. He sat back down, smug when he noticed the blush on her cheeks.

Élise closed her eyes and took a breath, before opening them; she gave Arno a beatific smile, "I'm afraid I don't have the faintest idea as to what you're talking about Monsieur Dorian." Élise said, before going back to her dinner. She squeaked when Arno's foot touched hers, nudging it to the side.

"Don't play coy with me, Élise," he said, pointing his spoon at her, "you know exactly what I'm talking about… what you did."

"You must be mistaken, Monsieur," she said, nudging his foot away, "for I do not recall." That serene smile still in place. She heard Arno growl, low in his throat; Élise swallowed, eyes focused on her food. The sound sent pleasurable shivers down her spine.

Arno finished the rest of his stew before getting up. He walked over to her, a confident swagger to his step, a devilish glint in his eyes, and that smirk on his lips. Élise sighed, trying to regain her composure. She will not let him win. He pulled her chair back and placed his hands on the edges of the seat, caging her in. Élise licked her lips. "No more games, Élise," Arno whispered.

Élise looked up at him through her lashes, a seductive smile on her lips. "Are we playing a game, Monsieur?" she asked. "Because," she ran her fingers from his wrist up to his elbow, "I do so love playing games."

"You do realize I've already figured out your gambit," Arno growled, watching her fingers. Élise gave a small smirk.

"Gambit? I'm not executing any gambit here, Arno," she said, leaning in close enough so that their noses almost touched. "I'm at your complete mercy."

Arno let out a frustrated sigh, before leaning in to kiss her but she pressed a finger to his lips. "Ah-ah," she cooed, her eyes darkling, that succubus smile on her lips. Arno wondered when he had control over the situation or if he ever had control. He parted his lips just enough to take her finger into his mouth and sucked on it gently.

Élise hissed softly, before pulling her finger out of his mouth. He grabbed her hand, and kissed her palm, her fingertips, before kissing the inside of her wrist languidly. He looked at her with hooded eyes, before nipping her skin. The act wasn't painful, a slight pinching of her skin between his teeth, but it elicited a gasp from her lips, a soft sighing of his name.

"Hmmm," he pressed his lips to her wrist again, "yes?" he purred. Élise's breath hitched, she could feel the rumble of his voice against her wrist.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Élise asked, her other hand coming to his shoulder. He looked at her, a lopsided smirk on his face. She pushed against him, scooting forward, until he met the edge of the table and she could stand. She pulled her wrist free, smiling at him beatifically. It was her turn to cage him against the table, she pressed her body against his and ground her hips. He hissed, one hand cupping her ass to keep the pressure, the other gripping the table to maintain his balance.

"Élise," Arno growled, eyes fluttering, he gave a soft sigh of pleasure. Élise flashed a smirk and pushed against his chest before pulling away. "Minx." He watched her take a few steps away from him, her arms open wide and laughter in her eyes. "I will tame you," Arno said. Élise laughed, as he pushed himself away from the table. He walked towards her, confidence oozing from him, a glint in his brown eyes and a smirk fit for an incubus upon his lips. "The game ends now."

"Game?" Élise chortled, staying just out of his reach. "What game, we aren't playing any game."

"Oh," he chuckled, "don't play coy with me, Élise de la Serre. You're trying to get under my skin."

Her smirk broadened. "Is it working?" She allowed him to catch her, pulling her into a sinful kiss. She pressed her hips against his, she could feel him getting hard.

"Yes," he said, his voice thick. Élise pulled away then. He growled, frustrated that she would deny him in such a fashion.

"I'm glad it's working," Élise said, hands going to her buttons and buckles. One by one she took off her belt, her waistcoat, and her boots; until she was standing before him in nothing but her trousers and shirt. She tugged the bracers on her arms free, untucked her shirt, and reached up to remove the breast wrap. She gave Arno a saucy wink before trotting up to him. She pecked his lips, her hands going to his belt.

"I don't think you need theses," she whispered, fingers deftly undoing the buckles of his belts. Arno hissed, for her fingers _accidentally_ graced his trapped cock more than once, which fueled his arousal. His belts fell to the floor with a thump of leather and a clang of metal. "Or this," she cooed, sliding her hands beneath his coat at the shoulders.

He leaned forward, catching her lips with his as he undid the buckles on his wrist blade. That fell to the floor along with his coat. His hands found her hips, pulling her flushed against his own. He ground against her, a sighing hiss escaping his lips at the sensation. She moaned softly, grinding against him as well. "I want you," he whispered, kissing behind her ear. He nipped at her earlobe before sucking on it, his hands sliding beneath her shirt. He found her breasts, thumbs gracing her hardened nipples. "I want you," he said again, pressing kisses down her throat.

Élise giggled and pushed him away again. He whimpered, his frustration growing along with his evident need for her. She walked to the bed, before sitting down on it. "You want me?" she asked, one finger lazily tracing the outline of her breast, that cocksure smirk on her lips. Arno growled, undoing his waistcoat and pulling of his shirt. He dropped the garments at his feet and walked up to her, passionate determination in his eyes. He kicked his boots off as he climbed into the bed, grabbing Élise's wrists and pinning them over her head.

"Nowhere to run now, Élise," Arno whispered, before pressing a kiss to her cheek, then down along her jaw until he met her lips.

"Ah," Élise cooed, "but I have you right where I want you." She arched a knee and rubbed it against his groin. He gave a shocked gasp, shivering a bit with desire. "Don't for a moment believe you've tamed me, Arno."

"Damn you," he growled, voice thick with lust. Élise smirked, the sound sending pleasurable shivers down her spine, making her wet and wanting. She kissed him, tugging at his lips with her teeth before kissing his chin and down his neck. She nipped his collarbone, a bit harder than before; Arno groaned. His grip slacked and she pulled her hands free, wriggling into a more upright position. She tugged at his pants, while his hands snaked up her shirt. She acquiesced, raising her arms and letting him remove her shirt.

He pulled her towards him then, pressing open mouth kisses to her chest, lips molding around her nipples, his tongue tracing them. Élise sighed in pleasure at the sensation. "Arno…" she whispered, encouragingly as he kissed and teased her breasts with his mouth. She undid his hair, his chocolate locks falling about his shoulders, giving her something to hold on to as she arched against him. "Arno…"

"I thought you haven't been tamed," he teased, placing a kiss on the top of her breast. She shot him a furious look, though it was dampened by her flush cheeks. He chuckled, amused and kissed her again, a hand cupping her breast, squeezing it gently.

Élise whimpered, trying not to give in. She placed her hands on his shoulders, running them down along his back to his trousers, fingers slipping beneath the waistband as she ran her hands along his hips. He shuddered against her at the feeling. A glint darkled in her eye, before she slipped one hand down his pants, gracing his cock, his balls, then back up again. She laughed, as he moaned and bucked against her hand. "You haven't tamed me, Arno, not by a long shot." She squeezed him before removing her hand and undoing the buttons on his trousers. He helped her, eager to get out of the restrictive garment.

Once freed of his own trousers, his hands shot to hers. In his haste he nearly popped the buttons, but she stopped him, helping him remover her pants. His fingers graced her folds, feeling the slick wetness beneath his fingers. He found her bundle of nerves, rubbing it with his thumb. The unexpectedness of it, made Élise moan, arching and wriggling beneath his ministrations. "I think I've tamed the she-wolf," Arno purred. He leaned forward, kissing down her cleavage, along her stomach, her thighs, before kissing her womanhood.

"Arno…" Élise groaned, eyes hooded, as he held her knees apart. She struggled to maintain control of the situation, but he was wicked and he flicked his tongue against her nub, before sucking on it. She moaned, twisting about, running her hands up and down her body, muttering encouragement. A persistence stubbornness guided her hands, struggling to pry his fingers from her knees, but his grip tightened and he sucked harder, causing her to give up. He let go of one knee, to slip a finger inside, thrusting rhythmically, the pitch of her moans increasing bit by bit. He added another one, and Élise bit her hand to keep her pleasurable vocalizations muffled.

The sensation stopped, and Élise shot a furious glare at him only to see Arno's face was contorted in pleasure as he touched himself; soft hisses escaping his lips, his eyes closed. Upon her growl of frustration, he cracked an eye open. "Ah… and what do you want?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, only to hiss as he palmed the head of his cock. Élise bucked her hips with a little impatient grunt. He chuckled, wagging a finger before her face. "Ah-ah, tell me. What do you want."

" _Merde!_ " Élise growled, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. She reached down between her legs but Arno snagged her hand and then the other and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel him at her entrance; her calves against his thighs, his muscles taunted as he struggled to keep from thrusting into her. "Arno, please," she mumbled against her lips.

"Please what?" he asked. Élise growled, frustrated that he was being difficult. "Go on, say it."

Élise stared at him, their gazes locked in a furious battle of wills, both wanting the other to give in first. "Arno, please… make love to me," Élise finally whispered. He grinned, elated with this small victory. He grabbed her hips to steady her and slowly pressed in, grinning as her face twisted about in pleasure.

Élise wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs coiling around his. She heard him grunt softly, once he was fully sheathed. He kissed her neck, sucking on her skin. She moaned softly, digging her nails into his back and bucked her hips just a bit.

He began a steady rhythm. Their hips keeping time as their lips met. Arno squeezed her hips whenever he gave a particularly firm thrust, and Élise would grab his ass, squeezing to keep him joined to hers as long as possible. Soft moans and content groans escaped their lips between kisses, and Arno would leave trail of kisses down to her breasts, pressing his tongue against her nipples.

They raced towards the edge of bliss, Élise's moaning increasing in pitch, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth parted slightly. She nuzzled his neck, kissing and sucking and giving the smallest of nips. Her cheeks were flushed and his name tumbled from her lips. "Arno…" she gasped softly, cracking one eye open. He pressed a kiss to her neck, a soft _fuck_ escaping as a sigh. "I'm close," Élise whispered. He flicked her gaze up at her a smirk spreading on his lips.

"I can tell," he grunted, sliding a hand down her stomach to her heat. He continued his movements; his fingers assisting. "Come for me," he encouraged, "let me see you come undone."

Élise tried to glare at him, but failed. She struggled to hold on, but in the end, she climaxed, moaning his name loudly as she twisted about as her nerve endings exploded with pleasure. He came a few moments later, her walls clenching about his cock sending him over the edge. He looked at her flushed face and kissed her, pulling out of her. "I love you," she purred against his lips.

"I love you too," he said, lying next to her and pulling her close. He ran his hand up and down her stomach, enjoying the afterglow. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, content to have her in his arms, another to her neck. He was getting sleepy.

"Arno," Élise whispered, interlacing her fingers with his.

"Mmhmm?"

"What… what did you want to say earlier? In the tunnels?" she asked, closing her eyes. She could feel his breath fanning her neck, he had stilled suddenly. "Arno?"

Arno sighed, nuzzling her neck. "I want…" he paused. "I want a child, Élise. I want to _be_ a father."

Élise froze, eyes widening. She chewed her lip and struggled not to look at Arno's face. She never knew he wanted a child, that he wanted to be a father. Children had always been something in a distant future when she achieved all she had set out to do. Children rarely crossed her mind; it wasn't that she was afraid of children or motherhood, it was just that she didn't think she was ready. They had lost so much and who's to say she and Arno wouldn't die and leave their child tragically orphaned. "Arno… I…" she licked her lips, struggling to find the right words. She took a deep breath and twisted around to face him. She placed a hand on his cheek, thumb gracing his cheekbone, "Arno… I… I'm not ready."

She waited for him to say something, but the silence stretched on. A coil of dread settled into her stomach and she chewed at her lip nervously. He sighed suddenly and rolled onto his back, looking away from her.

"I see," he finally whispered, before rolling back onto his side and propping his head up with his hand. He traced a nonsense pattern in the space between them with a finger. "Let me ask you this," he said, "do you want children? Do you want _me_ as the father?"

"Arno," Élise huffed, rolling her eyes, "what type of question is that? Of course I want you."

He rolled his eyes frustrated. "No, do you want _me_ to father _your_ children, Élise?"

"Naturally," Élise said primly, "who else would I want to father my children, but you?" she studied his face before continuing, "it's just that… Arno, I'm the Grand Master now. And I know you may not realize it, but I _have_ responsibilities. Once we're finished here, I have to start rebuilding my order, quelling the unrest among them, working on forging a peace between Templars and Assassins. I don't have _time_ to be pregnant and raise a child."

"So, when _will_ you have the time, Élise?" Arno pressed.

She blinked, taken aback. "I… I don't know," she whispered. She glanced away, frowning a bit. "Maybe in a year or two… at most three," she said. "Know this Arno," she told him, "I _do_ want to have a family with you. There is no one else I'd rather have a family with than you. But like I told you before, when you asked me to marry you, I have things that _must_ be taken care of first, before I think about marriage and babies. I hope to have such happiness one day, with you at my side, but until then, please be patient with me."

"Alright," Arno said, a small smile gracing his lips. "I will wait."

Élise leaned against him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you for understanding," she whispered.

"Élise, I love you," Arno said, "I'll wait. I just… wanted a time frame. Answers. That's all."

Élise nodded, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. She didn't deserve him. He was too good for her. All the sacrifices he made for her in her quest to hunt down her father's killer: his teacher, his place in the Brotherhood. All for them he gave up for her. She sniffed, tears pricking her eyes. "I'm sorry Arno."

"For what?"

"For everything," she mumbled, snuggling against him. "I… miss him. I miss Father so much and it's been five years and—"

Arno squeezed her tightly, stroking her hair. "I know. I still miss my father… I still regret not giving your father that note… I don't think I've redeemed myself."

Élise looked up at him. "I was too harsh with you when you came that day. I shouldn't've said that."

"No, no," Arno said, "it hurt but I… I needed to hear it." He pushed her away a bit to look at her face.

"I blamed you for my father's death," Élise said. "You never killed him—"

"But I did," Arno protested. "My carelessness cost him his life, after all he did for me… my foolishness killed him. You were right saying that I did… that I was involved."

"Arno… you need to stop blaming yourself," Élise mumbled, "don't let Germain's shadow of hatred continue to loom over you," Élise said. She snorted in hypocritical bemusement. "I'm still angry, I'm still hurt. I want to kill Germain over and over and over…" she was shaking. The pain and heartbreak that had been locked away due to her anger and lust for revenge finally sprung forth. Élise fought it though, fought it tooth and nail. She had to remain strong, she couldn't be weak and fragile. It began as a tremble and a catch in her throat. Her eyes stung a little bit and her lip quivered.

Then the damn broke. She clung to Arno as she cried, and he held her and murmured sweet little words into her hair, soothing her, cuddling her close. Élise cried until her tears faded, and sleep overtook her. She knew then that her heart was beginning to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> I got the Unity artbook. :D I’m so happy.  
> Arno and Élise worked out their problem and Élise finally cries about all the terrible shit that happened, because I don’t think she did in the game and she needed to and she does, in the safety of Arno’s arms. Because only Arno is allowed to see her that vulnerable.  
> Save an author; leave a review!  
> Or do you want to be responsible for Connor’s tears?
> 
> PS: Added sex and some other stuff. Also changed the title cause I never liked it, finally thought of a better one. :D


	5. Like a Father

Arno stroked Élise's cheek until her eyes fluttered open. "Arno, what time is it?" she asked, stretching cat-like against the mattress. He smiled, leaned forward and stole a kiss. "Hmm, you're dressed."

"Yes," he whispered, keeping his voice soft. "I'm going to speak with Napoleon."

Élise sat up at that. "Napoleon? Why?" she asked, and then chided herself for being stupid. "Arno, I don't think that's a good idea. Does he even know what you are?"

"He has a vague idea. He helped me a few times during our hunt for Germain. Napoleon can be discreet."

"Yes, but he's also hungry for power," Élise said, "and whatever lays beyond that door he's looking for could grant him the power he seeks."

"I know, and that's why I'm going to tell him to leave it alone," Arno said. Élise gave a brittle laugh.

"Men like Napoleon won't leave it alone, they are like dogs with a scent," Élise said, "once they caught it they will run it down until they have it in their jaws."

"All the more reason to have a skilled master of hounds then," Arno replied, a cocky smirk gracing his lips. Élise chuckled, bowing her head in defeat.

"Alright," Élise said as she ran her hand up his chest. She could imagine the feel of his skin against her palm, memories of last night coming back to her. "Just don't tell him _too_ much, I'd hate to have to induct him into the Templar Order."

"Templar? You really think Napoleon will go for the Templars and not the Assassins?" Arno asked, his fingers wrapping around her hand. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, the inside of her wrist, the bend of her elbow. The last one made her give a little gasp of erotic surprise.

"Arno," Élise said, her tone both a warning and a request. "Men like Napoleon see the Templar doctrine as a way of justifying their ambitions."

"I know," Arno said and pinned her to the bed, grinning when she laughed. He kissed her and Élise wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him close. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he whispered pulling away a bit. Élise smiled.

"I have you," she said. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, take your time today. Why don't you try talking to Léon? See if you can't—" Arno stopped talking when Élise kissed him tenderly.

"Maybe you should talk to him," she said. "He was more upset with you than me."

"Why?" Arno asked, and tried to go in for another kiss, but Élise stopped him. "I meant what I said. He could get hurt. It's too dangerous for him."

"Arno, I know and I agree with you, but…" she sighed, "he looked up to you. He thought you were a great hero." Élise smiled sadly. "You tarnished those fantasies."

"Good. Maybe that'll teach him not to go poking his nose into things he doesn't understand," Arno grumbled. "He doesn't need to be a part of our world."

"When did you become so callous?" Élise asked, a sad look in her eyes. Arno turned away; Élise turned his head to face her. "Arno."

"I have so many… deaths on my conscious. My father's, your father's, Mirabeau's, Bellec's…" he gave her an earnest look, "I don't need the death of a boy on my conscious," he said.

Élise cupped his cheek. "Oh, Arno, will you ever forgive yourself?"

"Have you forgiven me for the role that I played?" Arno asked, his voice soft and his eyes staring at a spot just to her left. Élise stroked his cheek but remained silent. The silence got to an unbearable point, when Arno finally broke it. "I thought—."

Élise frowned, and pressed a finger to his lips with one hand and grabbed his with her other. "Yes, I did!" she hissed. "And Arno, you did have a hand to play in my father's death, but an unwitting hand." Élise squeezed his fingers to get him to look at her. " _But!_ The real killer is dead. We killed him."

"Élise."

"If I still held it against you, do you think I would be here, right now, with you?"

"No, but Élise—"

"We both have done things we aren't proud of, but if we can't… learn to at least accept our ignoble moments then, how can we ever make our relationship work? Isn't love supposed to be strong enough to see beyond such things?"

"It could've saved him, Élise," Arno whispered, unable to meet Élise's eyes. "I could've saved him."

"Yes, it may have, but knowing my father, he probably would've scoffed at it, thinking it was paranoia. He trusted Germain too much. He trusted Germain wouldn't retaliate against him even though Germain's pride had been severely bruised. That was folly of on my father's part," Élise said. "Please love, don't torment yourself with what ifs. I wish to see you smile again, have hope in your eyes for brighter days."

"I will, only if you promise to be hopeful too," Arno whispered, he twisted his hand around to squeeze her fingers.

"Oh Arno," she chuckled, "I promise to be hopeful too." Élise finished throwing her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, before pulling away and cupping his face. "Now, will you please start to forgive _yourself_?"

"I'll try," Arno sighed. He pulled his face away from her hands. "Will you talk to Léon?"

Élise rolled her eyes and growled in frustration. "Yes, I will, but you should talk to him too."

"Alright. I need to go, before Napoleon goes into those catacombs or leaves Franciade," Arno said. "You can sleep in if you like, but I hear the innkeeper's wife is making crêpes."

"Ooh, I love crêpes," Élise said. "We meet back at…"

"The orphanage, an hour past noon?" Arno said. Élise looked at him.

"How long do you expect a chat with Napoleon to take?" she asked.

"Not very long, but I wanted to do some snooping around Franciade on my own," Arno said. "See if I can't get the lay of the land; if there are any clues that may be linked to whatever is buried here."

"Fine," Élise said, a bit miffed that she was being left out of the adventure. "Just be careful, and I'll see you at the orphanage an hour past noon."

"I will," Arno said, and kissed her forehead before leaving via the window.

* * *

 

Arno passed through the market square on his way to visit Napoleon. He blended in with the crowd, people glancing at him and then forgetting he was ever there. Bellec said there was a trick to being forgettable. Mimic the pace of everyone else, never stare at something too long, always seem as if you're looking just beyond the area while taking in everything and never do anything to draw attention to yourself. By following these steps, even a man in a hood, which is rather noticeable will be just another faceless member of the crowd.

It was how Arno spotted Léon. The boy was at a fruit merchant's stall, crouched by a corner, looking as out of place as a peacock in a henhouse. Arno rolled his eyes, wondering if the boy was being that sloppy on purpose or if he really was that bad. Arno hung back in the wave of people to watch and intervene if things got messy.

Léon's timing could've been better, for he swiped the apple right when the merchant turned back around. Arno suppressed the sigh of irritation he wanted to exhale. "Thief!" the merchant cried, grabbing Léon's hand, making him drop the apple. "Thief! Thief! I caught ya, ya rotten little bugger!" the merchant bellowed. "Guards! Guards! Someone fetch the guards!"

Arno pushed his hood down as he walked up to the merchant. He threw his shoulders back and imagined the most pompous person he could fathom. "I would appreciate if you unhand my son," Arno looked down his nose at the merchant, " _monsieur_ ," he said in the sophisticated lilt of the highborn. The merchant and Léon gaped at him. "Léon," Arno chided, "what have I told you about playing such pranks?"

Léon pulled his wrist free from the baffled merchant. "Sorry Papa," Léon muttered, picking up on the ruse and hanging his head, acting sufficiently cowed. "I was going to give the apple back," he added.

"This here brat is your son?" the merchant asked, finding it a bit hard to link Léon with Arno, especially since Léon's clothes look like he rolled around in a pig sty.

"Yes, he likes to dress up as common riffraff," Arno explained before turning his attention to Léon. "Be that as it may, I'd hate to imagine what your mother would say if she knew she was raising a common thief!" Arno placed his hand on the back of Léon's neck. He reached into his coin purse and handed the merchant a coin. "For your trouble," Arno said and took an apple, walking off with Léon.

"You didn't have to do that," Léon muttered. Arno pressed the apple into the boy's hand as the crowd swallowed them.

"Thieves get their hands lopped off," Arno said, his voice soft. "Stand up straight, try to look like a noble's son a bit longer." He could feel the eyes of the guards on them and as long as both strutted like cocks the guards will believe that they were nobles.

"I still hate you," Léon muttered, though he threw his shoulders back just a bit. They slipped into an isolated alleyway. Arno tugged his hood back up and glanced out at the passing crowd. Léon sat down on an abandoned crate and bit into his breakfast, apple juice dribbling down his chin. Arno leaned up against the side of the building, arms folded over his chest. He watched Léon eat.

"Doesn't Madame Margo feed you at the foundling home?" Arno asked. Léon nodded. "And?"

"I left before she woke up and fixed breakfast," Léon said, wiping apple juice off his chin with the back of his head. "You really didn't have to save me," Léon stated again.

"A simple thank you, would suffice," Arno said. He could hear Élise right now, saying he sounded like a cynic. Arno had to chuckle at that.

"What's so funny?" Léon asked.

"I'm thinking about how I'm turning into a cynical old man," Arno said. Léon looked Arno up at down.

"You aren't _that_ old," Léon said, with all the sagely wisdom of a child. "I've seen older."

"I'm nearly thirty," Arno said, and saying that aloud he suddenly felt old.

"How old are you, _really_?" Léon asked.

"Twenty-five," Arno said. "I'll be twenty-six at the end of August."

"Like I said, not that old," Léon said. "I've seen men that are younger that look twice your age." The boy took another bite of his apple.

"You've seen a lot of things for a boy of twelve," Arno said.

"I'm _nine_!" Léon snapped, glancing up at Arno. "And I have."

Arno inspected the mechanism of his wrist blade, he'll oil the mechanism tonight. He flicked the blade out. He studied his narrow reflection in the steel of the slim blade. "Have you ever lost someone close to you?" he asked, as he snapped the blade back into place. He glanced up at the sky then as he awaited Léon's answer.

The boy stayed silent for several moments. "No," Léon said, "not really." He looked up at Arno. "I saw a girl die once. She and her brother were playing in the catacombs and they got lost. She fell into a chasm and died, I saved her brother. They were a noble's children and that's when I realize noble or common, we all die," Léon said, "so… I decided that I'll help people no matter if they are rich or not."

"How very noble of you," Arno said.

"Have you?" Léon asked.

"Have I what?"

"Have you ever lost anyone close to you?" Léon said, taking another bite of his apple. Arno sighed, resting his head against the building and closing his eyes.

"Yes," he said thinking of all those he lost, each ache renewed. "I have," Arno added, looking at Léon.

"Are you going to lecture me?" Léon asked. "Madame Margo lectures me when I'm in trouble."

"Do you want me to lecture you?" Arno asked, arching a brow. The boy shook his head. "Then I won't."

"Then what will you do?" Léon asked. Arno stared, and slid down into a squat to look at the child.

"I want you to understand why Élise and I don't want you helping us," Arno said.

"It's because I'm a child, right?"

"No," Arno shook his head, "it's because the world she and I belong to… is a dangerous world. We want you to be safe, have a childhood. Something we were so cruelly robbed of," Arno said, "we wanted to protect you."

Léon stayed silent for several long moments, chewing his lip. "You don't think Madame Margo lectures me enough, do you?" Léon accused.

"I never said that Léon," Arno pointed out. "I'm sure Madame Margo cares about you, but she's an old woman, and unable to run after you. Would she mourn your death?" Arno asked. Léon finished the rest of his apple and threw the core at Arno, who dodged it.

"You don't know anything about being an orphan!" the boy spat. "You have always had nice people looking after you and people that give a damn about you! Not me! Madame Margo… she cares and she takes care of me, but you're right, I'm just another mouth to feed!" Léon shouted, and bolted but Arno caught him about the waist and pulled him close. "Let me go!" Léon yelled, struggling against Arno. "Let me go, you bastard!"

"You know nothing of my life," Arno hissed into the boy's ear. "I _do_ understand the life of an orphan. I was an orphan myself. My father was killed when I was about your age. Élise's father took me in, but I never was truly apart of his household. They kept me at a comfortable distance, only growing close to me when it suited them. All but Élise," Arno said. "I know all too well the pain of being alone and abandoned."

"So what! You still lived with a good family! You weren't in an orphanage!" Léon shouted, though he had stopped struggling.

"That's because Élise saved my life," Arno whispered, holding the boy close. "She convinced her father to take me in. She is all I have. I _owe_ her my life."

Léon stopped struggling, glaring at the ground. "You love he," Léon muttered, "don't you?" he glanced at Arno, an inquisitive expression on his face.

"Yes," Arno agreed, a smile gracing his lips. "I do."

"What does this have to do with me?" Léon asked. "I don't have anyone like that. Nobody cares about me, not even my own mother."

"Élise and I care," Arno said. "People only get angry if they care about something. We see a lot of ourselves in you, and we want you to… avoid the same mistakes we made."

Léon turned around then, staring at Arno. "Y-You and Élise care about me?" he whispered, not daring to believe.

"Yes," Arno said. "She was ready to bull right in there and save you from Rose's men the other day. I had to talk her into going along with a plan." Arno let the boy go.

"I… I didn't know," Léon whispered. "But you barely know me!"

"You don't have to know someone well to care about their safety," Arno said. He stood up. "Let's get you home then," Arno said, "I'll have to speak with Napoleon later then."

"Napoleon? You know him?" Léon asked.

"I do," Arno said, "he's a friend, and before you go accusing me, I didn't know he was behind this dig."

"What are you going to talk to him about?" Léon asked.

"About this dig," Arno said, then a thought struck him. "You want to help?" he asked.

"Yes!" Léon shouted, a gleam of joy in his eyes.

"Alright, Napoleon has a key, I want you to find it while I talk to him," Arno said, "but, he can't know you were snooping around his things. Understand?"

"Understood," Léon said. "Let's go then," he said and grabbed Arno's hand and tugged on him. "C'mon! C'mon!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Arno pulled Léon to a halt, "he also knows your face so you can't be seen with me. You'll have to sneak in via a window, Léon. Can you do that? Can you be silent as a mouse and just as quick?"

"I can! I can do this, Arno! Trust me!" Léon said. Arno looked into the boy's earnest face and sighed.

"Very well. Follow me, and do _exactly_ as I say, understand?"

"Understood!" Léon said. Arno smiled and placed a hand on Léon's head.

"Good, let's go, I promised to meet Élise at the orphanage an hour pass noon, we better hurry," Arno said, and lead Léon out of the alley.

* * *

 

They found Napoleon's place of lodging not long after. Arno pulled Léon into the alley, and studied the building. He inhaled deeply, squinting at the building to see the auras. He saw the glowing bodies of Napoleon and his men on the first floor. The key on the other hand was on the second floor in a chest. Arno opened his eyes and slipped his hand into his pocket pulling out his lock picks.

"Thief's charms," Léon whispered in awe.

"You know how to use them?" Arno asked, holding the little leather pouch in his hand.

"I've used them before. One-eye Pierre lends me his, when I run the odd job for him," Léon said, holding his hand out for the lock picks.

"I want them back," Arno said and handed the boy the lock picks. Léon turned them over in his hand, and noticed the Assassin insignia on it.

"Arno, what does this symbol mean?" he asked. Arno remained silent, and Léon didn't press the issue as he flipped the flap open. " _Mon Dieu!_ " Léon gasped, "These are even better than the ones that One-eye Pierre has! Are they silver?"

"Damascus steel," Arno said, "I want them back."

"Yes, yes, I'll give them back," Léon said and tuck them into his shirt.

"Now, the chest with the key in it is on the top floor, you to go in through that window and it's on the end table right behind you. You open it, get the key and leave. Meet me," Arno looked around and spied the church's tower, "in that church tower. You get the key and head straight there."

"Alright," Léon said and made to go but Arno held him back. "Hey!"

"Let me go first, then you go," Arno said, "and climb up the building next door."

"Alright, I get it," Léon replied impatiently. Arno snorted and head out into the street. Léon watched him go, waiting until Arno had entered the building and started talking to Napoleon. Léon sprinted across the street and jumped up the side of the building next door. He grunted as he climbed up the side. He hissed, nearly falling when a splint imbedded itself into his palm.

He bit his lip, and ignored the pain as she shimmed to the window of the second story. He wanted to look down to see if anyone noticed him, but he dared not. Arno had allowed him to help and he wouldn't disappoint his hero. Léon reached the window sill and peeked over it. He didn't see any guards. He counted to three, silently, before vaulting over and turning around. He tried the chest's lid.

As expected it was lock. Léon glanced over his shoulder, the pain of his splinter distracting along with the rapid nervous tattoo of his heart against his ribs. He pulled out Arno's lock picks. Léon took a deep breath, before he began to pick the lock. His luck was with him for he heard the soft click of the lock being freed.

Léon grinned and slipped Arno's lock picks back into his pocket. He opened the chest and spied the odd looking key. Léon glanced over his shoulder as he pocketed the key. Nobody. He took a deep breath, before closing the chest and vaulting out the window. He climbed to the roof and ran along the rooftops to the bell tower.

* * *

 

Élise peeked into the courtyard behind the orphanage. No children were in the courtyard playing, Élise felt the lack of children odd for the orphanage. She headed to the front of the orphanage and knocked on the door. It opened to reveal a small girl. "Hello, madame," the girl said.

"Hello," Élise smiled, "I'm Élise. Can I speak to Madame Margo?"

"Are you here to adopt one of us?" the little girl asked.

"No, I want to talk to her about Léon," Élise said. The girl sucked in a shocked breath, her brown eyes growing wide.

"Madame Margo! Madame Margo!" the girl shouted, "Madame Élise is here! She wants to talk to you about Léon!"

"Éloïse," Madame Margo chided as she came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "Go help in the Amélia in the kitchen."

"Alright," Éloïse sighed, defeated, "she wants to adopt Léon," she added before running off to the kitchen. Élise flushed as she entered. Madame Margo closed the door.

"Do you know where Léon is?" Élise asked, looking about the orphanage. It was sparse, with a few children watching them. Madame Margo noticed the watching children and shooed them away. They ran off, giggling.

"No," Madame Margo said, "he ran off at first light."

"Damn," Élise muttered.

"You seem awfully concern for a mere orphan boy, madame," Madame Margo said as she walked over to a shelf to straighten some books.

"Mademoiselle," Élise said, "please. I'm not married."

"Really?" Madame Margo asked, arching a brow. "That handsome young man you were with isn't your husband?"

Élise blushed, fidgeting with her fingers. "Arno is… well… he's my…" Élise stumbled over her words. Madame Margo chuckled.

"It's alright dear," she said, "but you should marry him before some other pretty thing snatches him up."

"Oh, Arno will never betray me," Élise said. "He loves me too much."

"Then I wish you and him much joy and happiness for your future," Madame Margo said.

"Thank you," Élise said, "what can you tell me about Léon?"

Madame Margo sighed, a sad look on her face. "He was brought to me by the city watch when he was two, with a note pinned to his chest. His mother is Spanish and she apparently left for Spain since France was boiling in its own blood at the time."

"Have you heard anything from her since?" Élise asked.

"No, nothing," Madame Margo sighed. "Léon is a good boy. He wants his mother to return, but… I asked Henri, a friend I know from the city guard, to see if he couldn't send word to the town Léon's mother was heading to…" Madame Margo stopped.

"You didn't get word did you?" Élise said.

"I fear that she is dead. Killed probably on the way there by brigands. I have no information on his father, but if he knew of the boy he hasn't come to claim him," Madame Margo spat. "Bastard."

"Just like Arno," Élise whispered. She remembered the one time she had asked Arno about his mother. It was a few months after Arno came to live with her, when her father got a letter from Vienna. It was from a woman. Élise never learned who the woman was or what the contents of the letter said, but it had made her parents livid, especially her mother. All she knew was that it had concerned Arno. When she had asked Arno about his mother, he had simply said she was gone. "If only she knew," Élise muttered, "if only she knew the man her son became."

"Pardon?" Madame Margo asked. Élise flushed.

"I'm sorry," Élise said, "I was thinking about something else. So you're all Léon has, then?"

"I am," the old woman looked up when she heard the chiming of the bells, sounding the hour. The bell knolled one lonesome note that echoed mournfully through the city.

"Arno should be here," Élise said, "he wanted me to talk to Léon and—"

"Élise!" a happy voice shouted behind her. She turned and nearly fell down when the excited child hugged her.

"Léon," Élise said, patting his back. She looked up, noticing Arno in the doorway. She smiled at him, hoping all the love she felt in her heart in that moment poured out in her smile. Arno walked in and closed the door behind him.

"I helped Arno! I stole the ke—"

"He has a splinter, won't let me touch it," Arno said, cutting Léon off. "Go on show Élise your hand."

"Let me see, Léon," Élise said.

"But I want to tell you how I helped Arno!" Léon protested.

"Léon, why don't you take your… friends, up to your room," Madame Margo suggested with a smile.

"Oh, right," Léon said, "this way, c'mon!" He grabbed Élise's hand and tugged at her until she followed. Élise followed Léon to his room on the second floor, Arno hot on her heels. She finally got Léon to settle down, once Arno was in the room and the door was closed.

"Alright, let me see your hand," Élise said and Léon offered her his hand. She saw the nasty looking splinter and clucked her tongue. "You need to be more careful, Léon, if you're going to be climbing buildings with Arno. Hold still now, I can pinch it," she said and grabbed the end of the splinter and yanked it out. Léon muttered a soft ow. "See? All better now."

"Thanks Élise," Léon chimed, a bright smile on his face. "Oh, Arno, here you go," Léon said and handed Arno the lock picks. Arno took them back. "So, I stole the key from Napoleon!" Léon grinned.

"You did what?" Élise hissed then looked at Arno. "Arno!"

"It's a safety net," Arno said, "and I'm glad I thought of it. Napoleon wasn't too… pleased that I told him to leave."

"Of course not, but now you robbed him!"

"I didn't rob him. Nobody saw Léon, and nobody knew Léon was with me. As far as anyone knows I was talking with Napoleon downstairs. Léon acted independently," Arno said. "Now, we need to find the door before they do, because without that key they'll probably blow the door up now."

"Rose will just wait until we open the door for him," Léon said. "He plays dirty tricks like that."

"Then we must find the door and the treasure beyond it before Rose or Napoleon become aware of the fact the key is missing," Élise said, she smacked her fist into her palm.

"I found something. I've kept it hidden in the courtyard," Léon said. Arno and Élise looked at him. "I'll go get it," he said and ran out of his room.

"I take it you talked to him," Élise said as Arno walked around the room at a leisurely pace, hands behind his back.

"We talked," Arno agreed. "We came to an understanding."

"Good," Élise said, and walked up to Arno. She placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. "I love you," she whispered. Arno smiled at her.

"I love you too," he whispered and kissed her. "Though what brings on this sudden display of affection?"

"I was thinking about you," Élise said. "Madame Margo told me Léon's parents… abandoned him. That his mother is most likely dead, and who know where is father is. He clearly abandoned his own son to a cruel fate."

"Élise," Arno said.

"And I thought about… that one time a few months after your father's death… my parents got a letter from Vienna. It was from a woman, that's all I know, and it made my parents livid! Especially my mother. I remember her saying, 'what type of woman… no François, what type of _mother_ abandons her own child in such a fashion!'"

"Your parents found my mother?" Arno asked, baffled that the de la Serres had done such a thing. Élise nodded. "I thought she was dead…"

Élise shook her head. "No, she's not," Élise sighed, "one of my father's agents found out that your mother was living in Vienna. He contacted Father, and my father spoke to my mother… she felt it may have been better if you went to live with her, if she would take you. So, my father wrote to her." Élise looked up at Arno. "This I found out later, when I was older and bolder."

"I'm not mad," Arno said, "it just makes sense now. That you would ask me about my mother that day."

"Yes," Élise agreed. "And I'm thinking about if she only knew the type of man you grew into. A good, kind, honest, brave, handsome, caring—"

"Assassin," Arno whispered, looking at his feet. "I'm an Assassin." Arno sighed, "my father never told me why she left," Arno looked away, "but in my gut I know it was because he was an Assassin. My mother and I are better off separate."

"Arno," Élise protested, feeling her heart break for him. "I'm sure if she met you and—"

"I got it!" Léon said, coming in. Arno gave Élise a sad little smile. Léon showed them a small book. He handed it over to Arno, when the Assassin held out his hand in a silent request. "I found it while poking around the necropolis. Do you think it may help with the door?"

"Speaking of locked doors, I want to hold onto the key," Élise said, holding out her hand while Arno studied the book.

"Fine," Léon sighed and gave Élise the key. She looked at it, noting the strangeness of it and the markings etched into the odd metal. She wondered whom would forge such a thing in the first place.

"Does the book help?" Léon asked, trying to see what Arno was reading. Élise peered over Arno's shoulder.

"I think this book will," Arno said. "There are some points here that speak of a hidden treasure, and these markings are clues leading to the treasure."

"That should be simple enough to find," Élise said. Arno nodded.

"Right, so when do we set off?" Léon asked, anxious to get back to solving the mystery.

"I think it's best if you stay here, Léon," Élise said. "It could get dangerous, especially if Rose knows of this treasure. He could try to take it from Arno and I."

"But, but," Léon protested. He glanced into Élise's eyes. "You care about me too, right?"

She smiled. "Yes, and that's why I want you to stay here. I'll see if Arno will let you come with us when we go unlock the door," she said. "Fair?"

"Fair," Léon sighed. "But… if he says, no… will you tell me what you found?"

"Of course we will," Arno said. "Now, Élise, let's go dig these things up."

"Yes," Élise said, following Arno to the door. "You be good Léon, Arno and I will be back soon," she called as they left Léon in his room. The boy waved goodbye, though he sighed dejectedly when they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Okay, so… I gave the orphanage a bit more life with some more children. I personally believe Léon’s mother is dead. The de la Serres writing to Arno’s mother is a personal headcanon of mine. I also think Élise forgave Arno for is involvement in her father’s death after they teamed up but before the hot air balloon ride. I also wanted to have the conversation between Arno and Napoleon (for I felt such a thing should have been in the DLC), but alas I couldn’t think of anything good for that scene, so instead we get Léon swiping the key. :3  
> Save an author; leave a review (reblog)  
> Or do you want to be responsible for Connor’s tears?
> 
> PS: Fixed Arno's age.


	6. Riddles and Surgeons

The rain came down in a misty drizzle; men tugged their hats down low over their eyes while women threw their shawls over their heads, children found sport in jumping into the puddles. Élise leaned against the side of the building, watching Arno ascend the cathedral that stood silent sentinel over the royal necropolis. Her heart would skip a beat whenever he lost his grip on a slick stone.

Élise never could understand how Arno managed to scale up to such heights. She had climbed buildings before, but nothing as high as Arno said he had climbed. He stopped somewhere just below the bell tower of the cathedral, apparently he found whatever marker the book spoke of. Élise swallowed, pressing her hands together and touching her lips. The landing Arno was on looked too narrow from her position on the ground and the rain was starting to get heavier.

"Mademoiselle?" a guard asked, breaking away from his fellows to come to join Élise beneath the overhang. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Élise said, in a nervous manner. "Everything is fine." She glanced quickly at Arno who shifted a bit to wave down at her, a disc in his hand. The guard follow her gaze.

"Good God! What is he doing up there! He's not supposed to be up there!" the guard captain shouted. "Someone get up there and stop him!" he barked to his men and pointed at Arno.

"No, don't," Élise said, grabbing the guard's wrist. "Please… my brother, he's… mad," Élise lied. "If he doesn't climb he'll be a danger to himself and others."

"I'm sorry mademoiselle, but I cannot allow him to do such a thing," the captain said. "Shoot him!" the guard ordered.

"No, please don't!" Élise protested, but the guards aimed their rifles at Arno. Élise flinched at the crack of rifle fire, her eyes fixed on Arno. He jerked and slipped from the narrow ledge he stood up. "Arno!" she screamed, taking a few steps out into the rain. She let out a breath when he caught himself on the ledge. "Please," she turned to the guard captain, "don't shoot him."

"He's not supposed to be up there, mademoiselle! I'm sorry, but that's the law," the captain said. "Open fire!" the captain shouted.

"No! Arno!" Élise screamed as the guards fired again. She watched Arno leap off the ledge, swan diving somewhere beyond the wall of the necropolis. She raced across the lane, mud splattering her legs.

"Mademoiselle, you can't go in there!" the captain shouted as she vaulted the low stone wall. Élise gasp for breath, drawing her sword in case the guards dared to challenge her. She didn't see Arno's broken and bleeding body anywhere on the ground. She looked at the statues atop the graves, none supported Arno's lifeless body like a demonic tree. Élise turned in a slow circle, looking up at the cathedral, but Arno wasn't dead and dangling from a gargoyle either.

"Where are you Arno," she hissed, blinking against the rain. She backed towards a cart full of wet straw.

"Mademoiselle, please come out of there," the captain said, "we'll look for your brother." Élise ignored the man, the back of her calves brushed up against the cart.

The strike was sudden. One moment she was standing in the rain, trying to figure out where the hell Arno had vanished to and the next she was being pulled into a cart full of smelly straw. She thrashed against her captor, her sword falling into the mud. Whomever had dragged her into the straw covered her mouth with a hand. She bit down as hard as she could on their middle finger. She twisted her waist around and grabbed her pistol, pressing the weapon into the gut of her assailant.

"Goddamn it, Élise!" Arno said. She let go of his finger and holstered her pistol. "You bite hard."

"I thought… why aren't you dead!" Élise hissed. Arno covered her mouth again.

"Shh, keep your voice down," Arno whispered as he heard the guards come into the courtyard.

"I dropped my sword," Élise said, her voice soft. Arno groaned, as he shifted their bodies around so he was on the side facing the courtyard. Élise watched him peek through the straw before reaching over right-quick and grabbing her sword from the ground. She grunted when he flopped back down into the haystack, landing on top of her. Arno groaned, pressing a hand to his shoulder, he let go of her sword, which clattered dully to the bottom. Élise's eyes widened when she saw the dark stain on his coat. "Arno, you're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," he said, "just stings." He looked at her, his damp hair plastered against his face, a few strains falling into his eyes.

"You're not fine," Élise insisted and tried to protest again but Arno kissed her. Élise pressed her hands against chest, creating a small space between them. "Arno this is no time for romance!" she growled.

"It is if you want to not get caught," Arno whispered back. "Listen," he said and pressed a finger to his lips, miming silence. Élise licked her lips, she could hear the guards walking about, murmuring angrily about being unable to find both of them. She was also acutely aware of how cramp the little straw cart was: Arno's right leg was wedge between hers and by default her left leg was wedged between his, her hands rested on his chest, his hands on either side of her shoulders. His blood dripped onto her sleeve from his wounded shoulder.

She could smell the wet straw and rain on him, as well as sweat and blood, feel the rise and fall of his chest and the beating of his heart against her palms. Arno's warm moist breath fanned her face and she could see the stubble on his cheeks and chin, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. She watched as a bead of rain trickled down from Arno's forehead to the tip of his nose, hanging there ready to fall, wobbling with each breath he took.

"They aren't here," the captain said. "Damn, where did they go?" he ordered his men to stop searching and Élise listened as they filed out of the courtyard. Only when the sounds of silence returned to the necropolis did she speak.

"Arno, you've been shot," she hissed, pushing and squirming against him. He hissed and Élise didn't think it was because of the pain in his shoulder, especially since his hands dropped to her hips.

"I told you, Élise, I'm fine," Arno said.

"You are not fine!" she protested and poked his injured shoulder. He gasped, flinching away from her. She smirked. "I rest my case." He glared at her. "Let's get that shoulder looked at," she said.

"What about the other locations? I told you, my shoulder is fi—Owowowowo! Alright," he gasped, pressing a hand to the wound. "Did you really have to poke it that hard?" Arno asked.

"Yes," Élise hissed. "Let me up, I feel like you're smothering me." Arno grumbled something that she didn't catch as he vaulted over the side of the cart. She felt for her sword, grabbed the hilt, before following him. She sheathed it once she was out of the cart. Arno was waiting for her, hand pressed against his shoulder. It was then that she noticed he was much too pale. "We need to get you to a doctor," Élise said, taking charge of the situation.

"If you insist," Arno grumbled, as Élise slung his uninjured arm over her shoulders. She pushed the gate open with her hip and lead the way to the nearest surgeon.

* * *

Élise half-dragged, half-supported Arno though Franciade's streets. His breathing was larboured and he stumbled over his own feet. He had lost a fair amount of blood and Élise feared he'd pass out at any moment. "Stay with me, Arno," she told him. He grunted in response. She glanced at the signs, people giving them a wide birth. She found what she was looking for, a sign that read: _Le chirurgien_.

"Élise," Arno panted, pressing his head against her shoulder. "I need to sit down."

"Don't you dare give up, Arno," she growled. "We're almost there."

"Élise, please," Arno mumbled. She straightened, before slapping him.

"Hold on, Arno! We're almost there, just hold on!" Élise said, "We promise we'd never leave each other." She continued towards the surgeon's shop. Arno wheezed out a laugh. "So don't leave me!"

"I don't remember making… such a promise," he said, leaning against Élise. She trudged through the mud and muck, glaring at people passing them.

"We were children," Élise said, "it was a thunderstorm and you had crawled into my bed because you were frightened. You told me you'd never leave me."

"Ah… I remember now," Arno said, as they stopped in front of the door. Élise banged on it. "You dried my tears… held me close… we promised… to never leave each."

"I haven't broken that promise, Arno, so don't you dare break that promise now," Élise told him. "Open up, damn you!" she shouted, banging on the door again. The door opened to reveal the surgeon.

"I'm sorry mademoiselle," he said glancing at Élise and Arno. "But we are closed."

"He's injured!" Élise protested, shoving her foot into the doorway. "He needs a doctor!"

"I can't help you," the surgeon said. Élise snarled, drew her pistol and pulled back the dogshead.

"You will either dig the bullet out of his shoulder," Élise shouted, "or be digging out the one I put in your face!" The surgeon swallowed, and glanced up and down the street.

"Alright, come in," he said, opening the door wider. "Get him up on the table."

Élise nodded, dragging Arno into the surgeon's shop. She spotted the sturdy bloodstained table. She dragged Arno over to it and hauled him on top of it. Arno gasped as he flopped painfully onto his back, a hand going to his injured shoulder.

"Get him out of those clothes, I can't work if I can't see the wound," the surgeon hissed. Élise wasted no time in getting Arno out of his coat, waistcoat and shirt. She studied his body as she did so, noting the scars puckering his too pale skin. Some were thin and pale; the newer ones were a soft pink. There was one across his stomach running from the edge of his bellybutton to his hip that was thick and ropey. Élise couldn't believe the scars, she had seen Arno plenty of times without his clothes on, yet she never noticed the scars on his body.

 _That's because you weren't looking for them_ , Élise told herself, a blush coloring her cheeks as she recalled exactly what she was thinking about whenever Arno took his clothes off. She looked up as the surgeon bustled about his shop, grabbing a bottle, his surgeon tools and a strip of leather. The surgeon set his tools down and took a swig from the bottle before passing it to Élise. She sniffed it. "Cognac?" she asked, confused.

"Get him to drink it, couple big gulps should do it," the surgeon said, a thoughtful frown on his face, "wouldn't hurt if you took a swig of it too. We all need a bit of fortification in this bloody business."

Élise narrowed her eyes at the man before taking a swallow of the cognac. She coughed as the liquor burned down her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before going to Arno. "Arno," she whispered, brushing his forehead. He wearily turned his head to look at her, gasping for breath. His skin was so pale. "Drink this," she said and pressed the bottle to his lips. He guzzled it at first, only to cough as too much went down his throat too fast. She pulled the bottle away.

"That's disgusting," he groaned.

"It's the best I have," the surgeon snapped.

"Really? I couldn't tell," Arno quipped. Élise rolled her eyes, wondering where he found the strength to make such a comment.

"Make him drink more." Élise frowned and pressed the bottle against Arno's lips again. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing steadily, before pulling her hand away.

"Enough," Arno said, his cheeks flushed, though the rest of his face was milk white. The contrast was unnerving in Élise's opinion.

"Girl," the surgeon snapped, "splash some of that onto his wound."

Élise balked before steeling herself and splashing it on Arno's bullet wound. Arno screamed, back arching and he curled into himself, whimpering like a beaten child. "Damn it," he hissed. The surgeon ignored him and pulled Arno back down onto the table.

"Drink," the surgeon ordered and Élise pressed the bottle of cognac up against Arno's lips again. He took several more swallows before pushing the bottle away. The surgeon handed Élise the strip of leather. "Put this in his mouth," the surgeon looked at Arno, "you bite down on that."

Arno nodded and held out his hand for the strip of leather. Élise gave it to him and he wedged it between his teeth. "Girl—"

"My name is Élise," she said.

"Élise," the surgeon acquiesced, "hold him down on his good shoulder. Don't let him get up. I have to get the ball out."

"Can't you just close it up?" Élise protested, her eyes trained on Arno's chest, and the steady rise and fall of it as he took great deep breathes to deal with the pain.

"If I leave that ball in, his blood will go bad and he'll die," the surgeon said. Élise paled at the thought of losing Arno. Arno pulled the strip of leather out of his mouth.

"Élise just do as he says," he told her and slipped the leather back into his mouth. Élise swallowed before pressing her hands down on Arno's good shoulder. Arno grabbed the edge of the table with his left hand.

"Don't let him get up," the surgeon said and wiped away the blood from Arno's injured shoulder, grabbed the cognac bottle and splashed some more into the wound. Arno's scream was muffled by him clenching down on the leather strip. The surgeon glanced at Élise before taking his delicate looking instruments and sticking them into the wound.

Arno clenched his fist only to bang it on the table and thrash his head. Élise saw tears dribble out of the corner of his eyes. He thrashed his legs as the surgeon dug deeper. "Hold him down, girl!"

"If I let up on his shoulder then he'll sit up!" Élise protested, flinching when Arno gave another muffled howl of pain.

"Then sit on him!" the surgeon yelled. Élise balked for a moment before getting onto the table and straddling Arno's waist, while keeping her hands on Arno's good shoulder. "I found the ball, stuck in the bone. Hold him steady, now," the surgeon said.

"Just hurry up, you're hurting him!" Élise shouted. The surgeon grumbled something as he grabbed his tweezers and stuck them into the wound. Arno whimpered, nostrils flaring as he panted. The surgeon pulled out the ball with a wet sucking sound, dropping it into the metal dish.

"Almost done now, saw something, probably the bits of his clothes," the surgeon said. Élise watched him, then looked at Arno's pain strained face.

"It's going to be okay, Arno… just hold on a bit longer," she whispered. He flicked his eyes open to stare at her and she gave him a weak smile. He grimaced, groaning as the surgeon dug again into his shoulder. The surgeon pulled out two bloody bits of cloth.

"That should do it. Lucky for him, it tore up the meat and lodged itself in the bone. He'll retain full use of his shoulder," the surgeon said. "Should make a full recovery." He went off and gathered needle and thread. He ran the needle through a candle before threading it and stitching Arno's shoulder. Élise got off of Arno and removed the leather from his mouth.

"Élise," Arno wheezed, his voice hoarse. He reached for her and she guided his hand to her face. She smiled, allowing the tears to fall as he stroked her cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered.

"Don't be, it's over now," he whispered, wincing as the surgeon poked him with the needle. "Everything will be alright."

"When the guards shot you and—"

"Shh," Arno traced her lips with his thumb. "I'm alive, we got the first one, now we just need the other two."

"I suggest you don't put too much strain on your shoulder for the next couple of weeks," the surgeon said as he finished stitching Arno's shoulder. He went about his shop, pulling a few jars down from the shelf and gathering some bandages. He came back and slathered a thick paste onto Arno's wound. "Give your body time to heal."

"We don't have that kind of time," Élise whispered, watching the surgeon finish his doctoring of Arno's shoulder.

"I know," Arno whispered back, "don't worry we'll figure something out. It doesn't hurt that badly anymore."

"Alright," Élise said. The surgeon finished knotting the bandage and Élise helped Arno get back into his clothes. He weakly slid off the table, hand going to his shoulder. She watched him walk up to the door and lean against it, waiting for her but she could tell there was a pained grimace on his face as he held his injured shoulder gently. "How much do I owe you?" she asked the surgeon.

"You can pay me by leaving," the surgeon said. Élise tsked, pulling out her coin purse.

"I insist on paying you for your services," Élise said, "you did just save my fiancé's life." She noticed that Arno jerked his head up his head up at that. The surgeon glowered hatefully at her, his grey eyes distrustful.

"I told you already girl, you can pay me by leaving," the surgeon said, "I want no trouble from _his_ kind."

"My kind?" Arno asked, pushing away from the wall. "What do you mean by _my_ kind?"

"Don't think I don't know what you are boy," the surgeon said, "what that blade on your wrist means. I knew exactly what you were the moment your pretty fiancée brought you to my door."

"Then you must know what _I_ am," Élise said, drawing herself to her full height and throwing her shoulders back slightly. "More importantly _who_ I am."

" _Oui_ ," the surgeon agreed, "I know what and who exactly you are, mademoiselle," the surgeon gave Élise a hateful glare, "now get out of my shop!"

Élise dropped her hand to the hilt of her sword, but Arno cleared his throat. "Élise, let's go," he said.

"You're lucky," Élise said, removing her hand to stand by Arno. "I'm feeling generous today. I'll spare your life," she narrowed her eyes, "but be warned your blatant disrespect to the Templar Grand Master won't go overlooked _next_ time."

"You're a damn fool," the surgeon said, "the French Rite is dead, girl. François-Thomas Germain saw its death throes. _His_ ," the surgeon jerked his chin at Arno, "abominable kind will soon have control of Paris, and then France. Stop playing at being Grand Master."

"I am Élise de la Serre, daughter of François de la Serre, Grand Master of the French Rite of the Knights Templar!" Élise snarled, taking a step towards him but Arno grabbed her elbow with his good hand.

"Élise," Arno hissed.

"The French Rite is not dead so long as I draw breath!"

The surgeon snorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Then prepare for a life of agony and pain. Both of you," he said, "if you two foolishly insist on being together. Neither side will ever accept your romance."

"I don't think it's foolish," Arno said, "Élise and I love each other. Our… unity brought down Germain; it's helping to heal France right now. Templars and Assassins can love each other, there can be friendship and unity between us. Élise and I prove it."

The surgeon snorted, shaking his head in the disappointed manner of a man that was once enthralled with the naïveté of youth. "Go," he said, waving his hand in dismissal, "before I call the city watch and say you tried to rob me."

"First answer me this," Arno said, "why are you so… against us?"

The surgeon stared at Arno and Élise for several long moments. "You remind me of two fools in love that I use to know," he said, "their folly got one of them killed. Now," the surgeon growled, "get out!"

Élise looked at Arno then back at the old man who once held such a powerful position in the Templar Order. "Let's go, Arno," Élise whispered, tugging on his sleeve. Arno stared at the old man, before following Élise out of the shop.

* * *

It was dark by the time they return to the inn. They had stopped off at an apothecary for salves, bandages and ointments for Arno's injury and when the innkeeper saw them he said he'll send his son up with their meal. Arno sat on the bed and allowed Élise to undress him again. She lightly poked his shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Were you serious?" Arno asked.

Élise asked, "About what?" as she seated herself in his lap and began to untie the bandages, tsking at the bloodstain on the white linen.

"You called me your fiancé," Arno said, his right hand resting on her hip. "I asked you to marry me the day after we killed Germain."

Élise flicked her eyes up at him, her mouth making a perfect little oh. "I remember," she replied, working the knot free and unwinding the bandages from Arno's shoulder. She used the corner of one of the bandages to wipe away the salve the surgeon slathered onto the wound. She grabbed one of the jars they brought from the apothecary.

"And?" Arno asked, staring at her expectantly. Élise remained silent as she dabbed the new ointment on to his wound. Arno hissed, his shoulder jerking away from the pressure. Élise hesitated for a moment before continuing her work. "Élise, why won't you answer me?" Arno asked.

"Arno, you're hurt," Élise said. She dipped two fingers into the ointment and reached for his shoulder but he grabbed her wrist.

"Élise, I'm fine," he insisted. "Now, have you accepted my proposal? I've kept silent about it out of respect to you, but you brought it up and told a complete stranger that I'm your fiancé. So tell me: were you lying about that or were you serious?"

Élise balked, pulling her hand away, a bit surprised that Arno let her. She smeared the ointment onto his wound. "Arno… do you know what it's like for a woman to be married?" she asked as she began to bandage his shoulder again.

"No," Arno said. "I mean… I never thought about it," he blushed a bit sheepish, "I don't even know the process to get married."

Élise chuckled, a small smile gracing her lips. "Well, lucky for you I have an idea. I told my mother when I was a girl, I think I was around eleven, that I wanted to marry you. She told me the truth about marriage in France, despite what she told me, I insisted on marrying you." She wound the bandages around. "Do you know what she told me?"

"No," Arno said. Élise finished her work and was about to speak when Arno held up a hand for silence. "But… I love you Élise and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He looked away. "I get the feeling you don't want to spend the rest of your life with me."

Élise gasped, feeling her heart break at those words. She couldn't envision a life without Arno. He was always by her side, her pillar of strength, her everything. "That's not it Arno! I do want to spend the rest of my life with you, but," Élise sighed, her frustration coloring her words. "A married woman loses what little freedom she has! She becomes her husband's property, lacking a legal identity of her own! She's not allowed to leave home without her husband's consent and she cannot claim custody of her own children!" she finally said, glancing at her hands that rested in her lap. Her eyes found the ropy scar on Arno's belly. She reached out and traced its length. She could feel Arno's eyes on her. "The marriage contract, where all this comes from is also an implicit contract of intimacy…" Élise looked away. "Marriage will effectively curtail me," Élise said.

Arno sighed, cupping her chin so she would look at him. "It only has binding strength if I inforce any of it," Arno said. Élise's eyes widened. "It's just some words on paper, Élise. If anyone is suspicious and a magistrate comes to investigate, we'll just acted the part."

"Arno," Élise said. "It… I don't think… you're mad!"

"Madly in love with you," Arno said, smirking.

Élise blinked, a baffled expression on her face. "Arno," she whispered, "now's not the time."

"I speak only truth, Élise." Arno pecked her lips. "I thought Templars love truth?"

Élise laughed slapping his stomach playfully as she pulled her chin from her grasp. "You're terrible."

"Look, Élise," Arno said, grabbing her hand, "I would never chain you in such a fashion. We don't _have_ to get married," he looked away, expression falling, "but… if we have children… a marriage would be… better in the long run. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do."

"Arno, if we are planning to have a family, we _have_ to get married," Élise said, "we can't afford to invite such a scandal into our lives by having a child out of wedlock. Let's get this done, let me get my order under control… then… then let's revisit this issue."

"More waiting," he sighed, but gave her a smile.

"I'm sorry Arno, I know how much this means to you but—"

"No, Élise it's fine," he forced a smile, "I don't mind." He stroked her cheek, a tender look in his eyes.

"I don't deserve you," Élise breathed.

"Pardon?"

"I said… what are we going to do with the money?" Élise said, staring at him. "After we get the manuscript to de Sade."

"And I was thinking we expand the Café Théâtre with the money de Sade will give us. Give it more rooms and hire a few more staff members. They'll take care of the maintaining of the place. You can focus on your Templar duties and whatever else."

"I'm flattered, Arno, but I'm going to fix up my father's Parisian townhouse and hold my Templar meetings there," Élise said.

"While I don't care what the council thinks," Arno said, "I do agree that may be for the best."

A knock sounded on the door, Élise slipped off the bed and answered it. It was the innkeeper's son, holding two bowls of a vegetable and meat soup. He blushed when he noticed Arno half dressed, averted his eyes and nearly shoved the bowls into Élise's hands before bowing and retreating rather quickly.

"Well, that was… odd," Élise said, shoving the door close to her foot and headed over to the bed. "Careful its hot," she added handing the bowl to Arno, who took it and set it down on his knee.

"Good thing my left shoulder is injured and not my right," he said, "I would've been completely useless. Unable to fight, unable to dress, unable to feed myself."

Élise gave him an amused looked. "Aww, the poor baby. Here, open wide and I'll feed you." She held up her laden spoon, a teasing grin on her lips. "C'mon open wide!"

"Élise!" Arno laughed, turning his head away. "Be careful otherwise you'll spill soup all over the bed!"

"But I thought you need me to feed you, since you're incapable of doing so now that you're injured," Élise said.

"I said that I am, because my right shoulder is fine," Arno said and demonstrated the ability to feed himself. "See? Fine."

Élise giggled and leaned forward to peck his lips. "I'm glad you're fine."

"Are we going… are you going to accept my proposal? Or did you just call me your fiancé because there was nothing else to call me?" Arno asked, bringing the conversation full circle.

"Partly because there is nothing else to refer to you as," Élise said, looking down at her food, "everything else just sounds too… inappropriate for what you are to me. Fiancé isn't any better, but…" she looked up at smile at him, "it seems to fit." Arno nodded. "Plus, I can accept the engagement. It's not like we're getting married tomorrow."

He stared at her moonstruck. "Wait… are you accepting? You're accepting my marriage proposal?"

"Yes, Arno," Élise said. "I am."

"So… we're… you _want_ to marry me?"

"I never _didn't_ I just…" Élise sighed, "there are things I have to take care of first before we get married and—" Arno silenced her with a kiss.

"I told you, Élise, I have no problem waiting, I just want to know how long I _have to_ wait," he whispered, lips brushing hers. "Say it."

"Pardon?"

"Say it," Arno gave her an imploring look.

Élise huffed, shaking her head. "Fine," she muttered, "Yes. I'll marry you," she leaned in close, "Arno Victor Dorian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> HUGE shout out of thanks to Mariyam for 18th Century French marriage customs. Thank you so much girl! :D
> 
> Yay, happy moment between them is happy. :3  
> The reason why there isn’t Arno’s reaction is because I feel that it would ruin it. Next chapter they continue the hunt for the light discs.  
> As you can probably tell I’m really into Tarja’s new albums. :3  
> PS: Made some changes  
> Save an author; leave a review (reblog)


	7. The Secrets of the Kings

_"Your beloved for mine?" Arno asked in a voice that was both his and countless others, though a woman's voice dominated them all. A sardonic malevolent smirk graced his lips._

_"God above," Élise whispered. She was frozen by her fear as she watched Arno's strange blue-white eyes grew wide and he flicked his wrist blade free; the soft_ snick _it made was foreboding. Time seem to slow and Élise could feel the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribs slow as Arno tilted his head back exposing his throat. Élise's eyes grew wide as realization plummeted down upon her. She flung her hand out just as Arno began to swipe his hidden blade across his exposed throat._

_He opened his throat from end to end, the crimson second smile gaping at her with thin ruby lips as the arterial spray splashed her with sticky liquid warmth. She tasted iron on her tongue, felt the scarlet drops fleck her cheeks, soak her clothes, and coat her reaching hand red. Élise screamed._

" _No, Arno!_ " Élise sat up in bed, thunder rumbling overhead. She squeaked, pressing her hands to her ears as tears fell down her cheeks. The nightmare was so vivid, so real. _Your beloved for mine…_ the strange voice that had spoken through Arno said. _Your beloved for mine._ "No…" Élise moaned in a soft tear choked voice, pressing her hands to her face, her body trembling. "No… no… _no!_ _You can't have him! You can't have Arno!_ " Élise shrieked to the howling wind. She jerked when she felt a hand on the small of her back.

"Élise, what are you screaming about?" a man's voice asked. Élise looked to her right. Arno was lying there, his eyes sleepy slits, his hair ink black in the lightning's brilliant flash. "Is everything okay? Is it the storm?"

"Arno," Élise whispered, she squeaked when the shutters on the window broke apart and began to bang against the side. Arno grumbled, as he got out of the bed and padded across the room to close the banging shutters. Élise watched him, noting the scarred welts on his back (she first noted his firm buttocks) and wondered how he acquired those lashes. He shut the window, locking the shutters in place before returning to the warmth of their bed, his skin studded with rain drops.

"There," he said, "now the shutters won't bang." He tugged at her hip, coaxing her down to his side, tucking her against him. She rested her head on his bicep, mindful of the bandages that protected his injury. She threaded her fingers with his.

"It wasn't the storm," Élise whispered, she hadn't been afraid of storms since she was a small girl. "I had a dream," she explained.

"You're awake," Arno mumbled, slowly drifting back to sleep, "dream can't hurt you now."

"When you grabbed the Sword of Eden… you… you said something," Élise said, looking at him, "in a voice that wasn't your own."

"Élise," Arno muttered, looking at her, "you were probably hallucinating. I'll admit that after we killed Germain I was exhausted and—"

"I wasn't hallucinating, Arno!" Élise screeched. "Something or some _one_ spoke to me through you! The spirit of that sword! It said _your beloved for mine_ ," Élise hiccupped. "In my dream you cut your own throat…"

Arno shifted and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here Élise, I'm not dead, I didn't slit my throat. It was all just a bad dream."

"I can't lose you… not now, not after all we've been through." Élise gave a shuddering sigh, wondering when she became so emotional. Maybe she always had been this emotional and had merely been hiding behind the stoic façade for so many years that now, when she finally felt safe enough to be vulnerable it all came pouring out like some great biblical flood.

"You didn't lose me," Arno assured her. He pulled his hand free and cupped her face. Élise flicked her eyes up to him, the shadowy outline of his face grounding her. Arno was her pillar of strength, her eye of the storm, the rock she clung to in a storm toss sea… her everything. "I'm right here, Élise. I'm not going to leave you any time soon. I promise."

"Arno," she whispered as he wiped away her tears.

"Remember what we use to do when there was a storm?" he asked, his voice soft. Élise rested her head on his chest, to spare his injured shoulder the strain. Arno's heart beat was strong and steady; he began to play with her hair.

"You'd come fine me, all wide eyed and frightened," Élise giggled, recalling the summer storms of their child. Élise heard Arno grumble something inaudible, which only increased her laughter. "I'd hold you and we'd sing," Élise said. Her mother found her and Arno once, hiding in a closet during a summer thunderstorm, clutching each other and singing _Frere Jacques_. Élise couldn't remember if she got a scolding or not. "I remember this one storm, you had heard a rather raunchy song and we sang it," Élise whispered, a giggle escaping her lips. "We must've been thirteen… it was before I was sent to Paris to continue my education."

"Oh yes," Arno chuckled, "your father caught us that day. I never saw the man so livid. I was afraid he was going to gut me."

"I can't remember what it was about, though. Something to do with a whore and her lover and how she gave him the flux," Élise said, "at least I think that's what it was about."

"I don't remember either, but I do believe it was about a whore," Arno agreed, he turned his head and nuzzled her hair. " _Il était une fois une putain, une belle putain, la plus belle putain que je n'ai jamais vue…_ " Arno sang. Élise laughed, smacking his stomach.

"Don't sing it, Arno!" Élise said, looking up at him. She could see the smile on his face. He kissed her then, a deep soulful kiss that stoked the fire in her loins. When they broke apart she gasped, "Arno…" It was dark but she knew his eyes smoldered with desire for her. She gifted Arno with a wicked good grin before straddling his waist, caging his head with her arms. "I love you," Élise breathed before kissing him, and together they fell into that smoldering fire of their passion.

* * *

Élise woke when she felt someone poking her in the cheek; it was a constant insisting jab. She moaned, rubbing her face into Arno's chest before opening her eyes. "Élise," Léon said, "you're awake." The boy smiled.

"Léon?" Élise asked sleepily, as she pushed herself up to stare at the boy. She watched as Léon's eyes grew wide and his gaze fell to her naked breasts. She squeaked, falling back down, accidentally jarring Arno's injured shoulder. He woke up at that, eyes bugging out and a colorful string of curses tumbling from his lips as he protectively covered it with his hand. "Oh Arno, I'm sorry," Élise said, cupping his face.

"What happened to Arno?" Léon asked. Arno turned to look at the boy, who was standing unabashed in their room.

"What are you doing here, Léon?" Arno asked, his voice tight with pain. Élise looked at the little orphan.

"Neither of you came back yesterday," Léon said, "Madame Margo wouldn't let me look for you after dark, so I snuck away at first light. It took me a while to find you," Léon grinned, "but there was only one inn that was currently renting to a woman with hair the color of flames."

Élise flushed. "Turn around Léon," she said.

"Why?" the boy asked.

"Damn it, Léon! Just do as she says!" Arno growled. Élise shot him a reproachful glare, he muttered something in what Élise guessed to be German.

"Fine," Léon sighed, covering his eyes and turning around. Élise leaned over Arno and grabbed the shift that she had discarded last night from the floor. She tugged it over her head. "Can I turn around now?" Léon asked.

"Yes," Élise said as she pulled her hair free of the shift. Léon turned around, and bounded over to them, crawling onto the bed.

"Léon," Élise protested as the boy snuggled into her lap.

"What happened to Arno?" Léon asked again. Arno chuckled, sat up slowly in order to put less strain on his injured arm, and tugged the boy into his lap, placing a hand on Léon's head.

"I got shot by the guards yesterday," Arno said, "Élise had to take me to a surgeon to get the ball out of my shoulder."

"Oh," Léon looked at the bandages on Arno's shoulder, "will you be okay?"

"Yes," Arno said. "You need to get back to the orphanage before Madame Margo starts looking for you."

"We can go there later and tell her, Arno. I think we should take Léon with us, he could help locate the other discs," Élise said.

"Only I can locate them, Élise," Arno said.

"Really? Why? Because you're an assassin?" she teased, a mock glare on her face. Arno rolled his eyes, though there was a smile on his lips.

"No," Arno protested, "it's because I…" he clammed up, eyes falling to Léon. Élise frowned, she patted the boy's shoulder.

"Léon, why don't you go and get some breakfast for all of us," Élise said, "there's some money on the table," Élise pointed to her coin pouch. Léon nodded, climbing off of Arno and then bed. The boy grabbed Élise's coin pouch before leaving via the window. Élise got out of bed after Léon left. She hummed as she walked over to the table and gathered some fresh bandages and the ointments from the apothecary. She returned to Arno and began to change out his bandages, and keeping her voice low asked, "so why are you the only one able to find the discs?"

"Remember how I was… frozen after I killed Germain?" Élise nodded. "And I told you it had something to do with my Assassin senses?" Again, Élise gave a little nod "Bellec explained it to me as… a special sixth sense a few bloodlines of mainly assassins possess," Arno said, wincing when Élise inspected his shoulder. "There is only one known Templar to possess this ability, an Englishman, by the name of Haytham Kenway," Arno said and hissed again when Élise began to rub the ointment on his shoulder, "though Bellec also mentioned that there was rumor that an Irish assassin that turned Templar also had it." He glanced at her. "How does it look?"

"Hard to say. It didn't smell like rot when I undid the bandages, so that's a good sign. And it's not oozing pus or blood either," Élise said, she looked up at Arno, and added, "what does this sixth sense allow you to see, exactly?"

"Hidden things, targets, enemies, allies, important items… it's hard to explain, it's like I can see their auras… I always knew where you were in the house when I used it. It gives me a terribly headache when I over use it though, or when I have a bad hangover."

"Hmm," Élise hummed. "And you just happened to be born with this… gift because you're from this… special bloodline?"

"Apparently," he said and jerked away, "ow, would you be careful?"

"I'm trying to see if it's healing alright, Arno," Élise said. "Are you sure you can climb like this?"

"Yes, as long as I keep moving," Arno said, "I don't think I'll be able to hang onto something for very long. Besides, if I pop a stitch you can always sew it back up again."

"Have you seen my needlework?" Élise asked, looking at him. Arno pecked her nose.

"I have, and it's beautiful," he whispered. Élise rolled her eyes.

"Flattery will get you nowhere Arno Dorian."

"I like you better without the shift," Arno said, flashing her a suave grin.

"Léon will be back any moment," Élise protested as Arno's hands rested on her thighs.

"I'll be quick," he countered, nuzzling the base of her ear. Élise sighed wanting to give in to his touch.

"No," Élise hissed. Arno sighed and shook his head before dropping a kiss to her collarbone.

"Tonight then," he promised. Élise gave an amused snort as she wound the fresh bandages around Arno's shoulder. "Just think," Arno said, interlocking his fingers at the small of her back, "once we're married I can have my way with you." He grinned and pecked her lips. Élise laughed, lightly slapping his chest.

"You already can have your way with me," she teased. Arno smirked and kissed her again before letting her go. Élise gave him a sultry smile before she gathered up her clothes and began to dress. Arno sighed, and followed her lead. She helped him put his shirt on, stealing kisses all the while. They would have begun to remove their clothes again, if a knock hadn't sounded on the door. Arno grumbled something and answered it. It was the innkeeper with Léon at his side.

"He says he's with you," the innkeeper said. Arno looked at Léon, the boy held a basket and a jug of milk.

"What did you do?" Arno asked as he opened the door wider to let the orphan into their room. "Thank you," he told the innkeeper, but the man simply shrugged and walked away.

"I brought breakfast," Léon said as Arno relieved him of the milk jug.

"It's still warm," Arno muttered, surprised.

"What is?" Élise asked, turning away from the window she had just opened. "Is that milk?"

"It's fresh too, still warm," Arno said, holding out the glass jug. Élise's eyes grew wide before she looked at Léon.

"How much did you spend?" she asked, worried that the boy spent all her money. Léon grinned.

"No all of it," he said, and dug out Élise's coin pouch. "I found a farmer selling the milk, and I told him a story about the orphanage, he gave me the milk for free! Even gave me some butter too! I bought the bread, cheese and sausage at the market," Léon said and set his basket up on the tabletop.

"You convinced a farmer to part with fresh milk and butter because you wove him a convincing tale of your miserable plight at the orphanage?" Arno asked. Léon nodded. "You must have a silver tongue then," he grabbed Léon's chin, "c'mon open your mouth let me see. I hear the silver tongue of a child is worth a fortune." Arno teased, trying to worm a finger into Léon's mouth. The boy playfully snapped at Arno, before pulling free.

"I'm going down to ask the innkeeper if he can spare a few cups and dishes," Élise said. "You two behave," she added before leaving the room. Arno looked at the boy in question. Léon stared back before pulling out a chair and sitting down. Arno followed suit.

"You didn't steal any of this did you?" Arno asked. Léon shook his head. Arno nodded, muttering his approval. "So… what do you want to do when you grow up?"

"I want to go to Paris and train with the resistance," Léon replied, "like you did!"

Arno chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. "I didn't train with any resistance, pisspot," Arno said. _Bellec's nickname continues its legacy,_ Arno thought with a bemused smirk.

"I'm not a pisspot," Léon grumbled and Arno laughed heartily as he placed a hand on the boy's head and ruffled his short hair.

"Take it as a term of endearment, Léon," Arno said, "my teacher called me that all the time. In fact, I think he used that more than he ever used my name."

Léon pushed Arno's hand away. "If you didn't train with the resistance then who did you train with? Those soldiers in the tavern said you could do some really amazing things," Léon asked. "I mean, what they said you did sounds even better than the stories!"

"I told you, that's because the stories aren't real," Arno said, smirking. The door opened to reveal Élise, with a few plates, a knife and a few cups. "Are they Élise?"

"What?" she asked, confused as she shut the door.

"These wild stories about me," Arno said, "they aren't real."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Élise said, setting the plates and cups on the table. "Do you have a royalist lover? And how in the bloody hell did you seduce the Princess of France?"

"Élise," Arno whined, "you know those aren't true," Arno ran his hand along her lower back, "you are the only queen of my heart."

Élise glanced at him, smiling. She sat down and began to pull out the items of the basket. "Ooh, you got brie." She flashed Léon a smile.

"I think we should tell him," Arno said.

"Tell me what?" Léon chirped, while Élise gave Arno a level stare. "Tell me what?"

"And what are you going to do? Stay in Franciade and train him?" Élise asked, "Or will you take him back to Paris? Plus, _they_ haven't even accepted you back yet."

"I know that," Arno said, "I was thinking we'd take him with us."

Élise gave Arno a devilish smile but there was a sad look in her eyes; she ignored Léon's constant questions. "You're fond of him," she whispered, "but I told you I'm not ready for…"

"Élise, it's not like he's an infant." Arno pointed out in a low voice. Élise stared, before shifting her gaze to the food.

"Oh Arno," she sighed, looking away, "let's talk about this later, _alone_." Arno sighed, nodding in defeat.

"Are you two talking about me coming along?" Léon asked. "Do I get to go to the tomb?"

"No," Arno said, "you are to stay put," and reluctantly added, "but we can use your help getting the other two discs."

"Really? All right!" Léon cheered as Élise cut up his portion of the bread, cheese and sausage. She poured him a cup of the fresh milk and spread the butter on his bread.

"Eat up," she encouraged. "You'll need your strength to help us today," Élise explained, serving Arno.

Léon chomped into his bread, a happy expression on his face. "I won't disappoint you! I promise!"

"I'm sure you won't," Élise said, "you seem like a very brave boy."

"I am!" Léon said. "You'll see!"

"Just mind us, Léon," Arno said, as he fixed his own breakfast. "That's all we ask on this venture we're about to undertake."

"I will," Léon said, "I promise."

* * *

The first disc wasn't hard to locate, being buried beneath a section of the low stone wall that encircled the graveyard of the commonfolk. The final one lead them to the windmill. "Do you see it Arno?" Élise asked.

"How can he see it?" Léon asked, looking at the two adults then back at the windmill. "It's just the windmill."

Arno sighed, taking a deep breath and concentrating, squinting up at the windmill. He found the mark. He rubbed his eyes, the pressure building just behind them. "It's there. At the top."

"You aren't going to climb it?" Élise asked, looking at Arno.

"I told you my shoulder is fine. It just throbs, dully," Arno said.

"Why don't you tell Léon where you saw the marker, and he can go get it," Élise said. Arno frowned.

"What if he slips and falls? I know what I'm doing. I know my limits," Arno said.

"What if _you_ slip and fall, Arno!" Élise protested, grabbing his wrist, "I don't want you getting hurt." Arno gave her an easy smile and kissed her forehead.

"I know what I'm doing," he said and vaulted over the low wall and ran up to the windmill. Élise chewed her lip, watching as Arno jumped on one of the arms of the windmill.

"Amazing," Léon muttered, standing on his tiptoes to see over the wall. Élise couldn't help but smile as she placed her hand on the boy's head, stroking his hair to calm her nerves. Arno reached the top of the windmill and jumped onto its roof, sliding down to the edge. Élise grabbed Léon's shoulders, squeezing them tightly.

"He's going to pop a stitch," Élise muttered, watching as Arno shimmied around until he found the small ledge that hid the disc's box. Léon made a small sound in the back of his throat. "Not know Léon," Élise hissed.

"Oi!" a course voice shouted. "Ya aren't supposed to be there!"

Élise turned, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the man. "Get behind me Léon," she whispered, pressing the boy up between her and the wall. Léon peered around Élise, to watch the group of men stalk towards them. Élise drew her sword, fire in her eyes and she slid into a fighting stance. The men chuckled, a dark sound as they drew their own weapons. "Léon, if… if it gets dicey, I want you to run and hide understand me," Élise said.

"But, I can—"

"Promise me you'll hide!" Élise hissed.

"I promise," the boy replied. Élise breathed a bit easier. She spared at glance over her shoulder, Arno had shimmied out of view and thus didn't see the approaching thugs. "Arno!" Élise shouted. "Hurry and get down here, we have a situation!"

Élise didn't wait for Arno's answer, she didn't even know if he heard her. She didn't even know if he had heard her. There was no time. She struck the first blow, using her superior speed to duck beneath the leading man's guard and spear him in the belly before yanking her sword free, taking a step back and slashing his throat. The man's warm blood spurted out like a crimson fountain, his hand scrabbling to his ruined neck in a vain effort to staunched the blood. Élise flinched slightly as it splashed on her. She licked her lips, tasted blood and the symphony of battle began.

All fell away as Élise held her position, twirling and ducking, her sword meeting the weapons of the thugs with a metallic almost musical clang. Her heart thudded against her chest and her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead. She dared not look back for Arno or Léon. She couldn't spare such glances. These men ruthlessly pressed the attack, and Élise gave ground bit by bit. She ducked a swinging club and punched the wielder in the groin, before driving her sword into the kneecap of another. She rose and slammed her sword into the club-wielder's throat before he could recover from her punch. Élise stabbed her sword into the other man's heart, blood leaked from his chest and knee.

Three down, but five still remained. _Arno where are you!_ She wondered as she blocked a blow from a pick-axe, ducked beneath the swipe of a spear, and brought her sword up just in time to parry another sword blow. She saw one of the men in the back, he had drawn his pistol and leveled it at her. Her eyes widen. She grabbed the nearest man to her, pulling him into the firing line, heard the crack of the firing pistol and saw the man jerk, coughing blood as the ball caught him in the spine. She pushed they dying man away.

Élise switched to offense, and began driving against the remaining men. Her arms were growing tired, and her breathing more labored but she wouldn't stop. Not until they all lay dead at her feet. She screamed, bearing her teeth in a snarl, her enemies' blood dribbling down her face as she slammed her sword into an attacker's throat.

"Élise, behind you!" Léon shouted. Élise looked over her shoulder as a shadow fell upon her. A man had snuck up behind her and held his pick-axe over his head, a terrifying bellow escaping his lips. His bellow was suddenly cut short, a bloody gurgle bubbled from his lips instead, as another shadow fell upon him, driving him to the ground and his death.

"Arno," Élise breathed, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Arno looked up at her, smile on his lips. Élise yanked her sword free. Another man came running at them, Arno pushed Élise aside and leapt, slamming his hidden blade into the man's throat. He gurgled, hands scrabbling at his butchered throat, falling to the ground and asphyxiating on his own blood. "What took you so long?" Élise asked.

"I had to get down without them seeing me," Arno protested, reaching for her face to wipe away he blood. Élise pushed his hand away and wiped the blood off on her own, tsking at the red smear on her white sleeve. "Besides, you were holding your own quite nicely." A lopsided grin spreading on his lips.

"Bastard," Élise hissed, torn between joy that he came when she needed him the most and anger that he took so damn long to come. The former won out as she threw her arms around his neck, "but you're my bastard," she whispered before kissing him.

There was a crack of gun fire, a man's scream and then the _whump_ of a body that fell upon the ground. Élise and Arno jumped back, staring at the corpse, and the pool of blood that was oozing out from his wounds. "I got him!" Léon shouted, a proud grin on his face. Arno and Élise looked over at the boy, who was clutching a pistol. Élise's hand went to her pistol hostler only to realize that her pistol was missing. She looked at Léon and the boy hung his head in shame.

Élise walked up to Léon and hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I'm sorry I didn't run," Léon said, wrapping his arms around her. Arno came over to them and embraced them as well.

"It's okay, Léon," Élise said, "you saved our lives by staying."

"You were very brave," Arno said, placing his hand on the boy's head, "I'm proud of you."

Léon stared up at Arno in awe, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Did you get the disc?" Léon asked.

"More importantly, how is your shoulder?" Élise asked, glancing at Arno's injured shoulder. He covered it protectively.

"I'm fine," he insisted, "and yes, I did get the disc." Arno looked around. "Let's get back and see if we can't puzzle out anything that these discs hold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Big thank you to Mariyam for correcting the French in Arno's little raunchy song.  
> And we get action, and family feels and happiness. :3
> 
> Also, no more school! Well, not until September. YAY! Summer break part II! 
> 
>  
> 
> Save an author; leave a review! ^o^


	8. Beneath Franciade

Rain soaked through their clothes as they sun began to set. Arno and Élise tried to convince Léon to return to Madame Margo, so the old woman would at least know the boy was safe; alas, Léon assured both of them that he had stayed out all night before and that Madame Margo wouldn't worry so long as he came by the orphanage in the morning.

They entered the inn and made it to their room. Léon started a fire, while Élise lit a few candles. Arno, pulled off his blue robe, hissing in pain at the simple movement. "Let me take a look," Élise said, walking over to him. "I doubt the rain did any good for your stitches and you probably popped one."

"Well, at least you're here to fix it," Arno said, a smile on his lips.

"My needlework is dreadful, as you very well know," Élise said, she looked over at Léon who was coaxing the fire into life. "Léon?" she called.

"Yes?" the boy looked up from his dying fire.

"Do you know how to sew?" she asked as she unbuttoned Arno's waistcoat. Arno's eyes grew wide at what she was implying.

"Um… a little bit, yes," Léon said. "Why?"

"Good," she said and pulled Arno's shirt over his head. "Because if Arno here has popped his stitches, you'll sew them back together, understand?"

"What?" Léon and Arno cried simultaneously.

"Élise are you daft?" Arno hissed. "He's a boy."

"I can't sew that good. I've never sewn people back together," Léon muttered, eyeing Arno with trepidation. Élise laughed as she unwound Arno's bandages.

"Hand me that bag over there, Léon. Yes, the leather one," she said, pointing to the bag she wanted. The boy brought it over and she took it from him. "Use one of the candles to light the kindling."

"You aren't really going to let him stitch my shoulder back together are you?" Arno asked.

"Did you pop a stitch?" Élise asked. She knew he did since the bandages were bloodied.

"Possibly," he replied, looking away, a bit ashamed. "I miscalculated when I jumped from the windmill to a roof. I grabbed the ledge with my left hand, but didn't catch it with my right as well. I dangled for a little bit and…" he stopped speaking since he knew Élise could figure out the rest. She pecked his lips.

"Thank you for being honest with me," she said. She looked at his injury. It had indeed popped open, the stiches sticking up like an angry dead spider. She tsked as she wiped away the blood with a rag. Arno hissed softly as the pressure aggravated his wound.

A loud _whoosh_ sounded and Léon yelped, tumbling back. Arno and Élise turned to see that the fire had caught and the candle Léon had been using lay on the floor beside him, snuffed out. "Good job," Élise said.

"Yes, praise him Élise, for nearly burning the inn down," Arno quipped.

Élise glowered at him before pressing on his wound. Arno gave a sharp yelp and muttered an apology. "Now, stick that candle into the blaze and bring it over here," Élise said. Léon nodded, doing as he was told. Élise got up and hunted for a needle, finding one on the mantle.

"What?" Arno asked, when he caught Léon staring at him, his face washed in pale golden candlelight. The boy seemed to be transfixed the bloody red hole in his shoulder.

"Did it hurt?" Léon asked, and pointed to the wound. "Getting shot?"

"Felt like I got punched really," Arno said, trying to recall just exactly how it felt. "Nearly knocked me off the cathedral." Arno watched as Élise plopped back down beside him. She threaded the needle before tugging the broken stitches out of Arno's flesh and dropping them into his awaiting palm. She cleaned the wound again before running the needle through the candle's flame.

"Alright Léon, you ready?" she asked. Léon balked, taking a step back and shaking his head. Élise chuckled as she pinched Arno's skin together and began to stitch it close.

"I thought your needlework was dreadful," Arno murmured, angling his head down to her.

"Arno, you're in my light," she muttered and pushed his head away with her elbow. He chuckled softly. He sucked in a breath from time to time as the needled went into his skin. "I'm almost done," Élise whispered, finishing the last few stitches. She then knotted the thread several times before cutting the excess with her teeth, her lips brushing against Arno's skin. A soft moan involuntarily escaped his lips. Élise smirked. "All done."

Arno looked at the tight neat row of stitches, running his finger down it. "Dreadful job, Élise. Absolutely dreadful."

"Oh shut it, Arno," Élise teased as she slathered some of the ointment onto his wound before bandaging it. "Put your shirt on so we can eat," she gave him a flat stare, "and you better not pop any of those stitches."

"On my honor," Arno said, placing a hand over his heart. He smiled at her, and she chuckled. He pulled on his shirt before joining her and Léon at the table. They had a quiet dinner, eating the left over bread, cheese, and sausage Léon bought that morning, as well as the milk and butter he also acquired. All their thoughts were on the discs that Arno had left on the bed, wrapped in a cloth.

"If I were to come with you," Léon said suddenly, "you know… to Paris—"

"Who said anything about you coming back to Paris with us?" Élise asked, looking at the boy and then to Arno. "Did you Arno?"

"Don't blame Arno, Élise!" Léon protested. "I want to come to Paris. To live with you and learn… how to be like Arno."

"Élise," Arno chided, "don't be so harsh with him." Arno smiled at the boy. "He'll be a good fit."

"For your order maybe, but not for mine," Élise said. "Besides, we'll discuss this later, we have to get you back to the foundling home."

"Élise," Arno said, "we can at least see what the discs contain."

"Arno, please," Élise begged. Arno sighed, getting up from the table and putting his waistcoat and coat on. He strapped his hidden blade to his wrist and slid his sword into the sheath at his hip.

"C'mon Léon, I'll take you home," Arno said, holding out his hand. Léon glared at Élise then at Arno, before folding his arms over his chest and lifting his chin.

"No, I want to stay and see the discs," he said, fixing his gaze on Élise. "Please. I help get them."

"No," Élise said. "It's… you aren't…"

"Léon, let's go," Arno said, "need to get you home before it gets any later."

"I don't want to go!" Léon protested. "I want to find out what the discs contain! Please, let me stay! You promised you'll help me save France!"

Arno sighed, walking up to Léon and putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "And we are, but you need to let us help you. You're too young for this. Élise cares about your safety, that's why she wants you to go home. And I do too. So, come, let's go. I'll tell you about everything later."

"Please, go with Arno, Léon," Élise said. Léon glared at Arno then at Élise then at Arno again. He heaved a great sigh, deflating as he exhaled.

"Fine," he said and slid off the chair. Arno stood, heading to the door with him and placing a hand between his shoulders, leaving Élise alone with her thoughts. Arno glanced back at Élise, and gave her a little smile. She tried to return it, but her guilt prevented her from doing so. The door closed softly behind them.

* * *

Élise looked up when the door opened about a half hour later to reveal Arno dripping wet from the rain. Arno closed the door, crossed the room and grabbed her hand, "Léon wants you to know he wishes both us good luck," Arno said.

Élise smiled at that, looking up at Arno and tightly holding onto his hand. She gave a small nod. "Good," Élise said, "I feel like we need all the luck we can get."

"I want to adopt him, Élise," Arno said, sitting down. "After all this is over. I want to take him back to Paris with us."

"We can't Arno," Élise said, pulling her hand away. She rubbed her temples, shaking her head. "You aren't even accepted back into the Brotherhood yet, I have my order to take care of, I need to plan my ascension as Grand Master to make it official… tell me, when will you find time to take care of a child, Arno?"

"He's nine-years-old Élise, it's not like he's an infant," Arno protested. "I'll hire a tutor and he'll be in lessons most of the day, we can spend time together as a family in the evening and—"

"No, Arno!"

Arno looked away, wondering why she was reluctant to start a family with him. "Élise," Arno began, "why… why are you reluctant to help Léon? He's an orphan, like I was. Why can't we help him? Give him a home, like your father did for me?" Arno smiled a little, cupping her cheek. "You saved my life that day. If it hadn't been for you, telling your father… I… I would probably have ended up in an orphanage, maybe on the streets dead and—"

"I am not my father, Arno," Élise hissed, pulling away from Arno's touch. "And Léon isn't you. I understand you want to help him, but we can't. I want to help him too, but if we bring him to Paris, we'll be taking him away from the only home he's ever known, from his friends, people that care about him—"

"I care about him, Élise! So do you. He can make new friends!"

"Yes, all of that is true, but Arno," Élise sighed, "can you really find a balance between your duties to the Brotherhood and the café _and_ being a proper father to this boy? I have my order to rebuild, my ascension as Grand Master to organize, I _know_ that _I_ don't have to time to be a proper mother to him."

"He _needs_ me, Élise!" Arno stressed. "I see myself in him. I was around his age when my father died. I could—"

"Stop trying to fix what's been broken for years. Your father is dead; you can't bring him back by being a father to Léon."

"I wasn't trying to _fix_ anything, Élise," Arno growled, "I was merely trying to help an orphan boy because I understand what it's like to grow up without your parents, unlike you."

"Don't," Élise hissed, "don't you dare talk to me like I don't care! I do care, Arno! I do care about this boy! But I'm being realistic! In our current situation we cannot possibly be effective parents to this boy. I lost my mother when I was twelve, Arno. My father died five years ago. I know the pain of losing my parents, very well, Arno." She held his gaze, pinning him to his seat with the force of her stare. "What I don't understand is why you are so adamant about helping this boy, you barely even know."

Arno slammed his hand on the table. "Élise, I want a family. I want a family with you! But you don't want a family with me. I don't even know if you want to marry me—"

"I accepted your proposal, Arno! Or have you forgotten!"

"And you don't want to have a child with me. I'm starting to wonder if you even want a family with me, am I even good enough for you?"

"Arno, I love you! Of course I want a family with you, but it's too much, too soon. I have responsibilities, you have responsibilities and—"

He stood up suddenly, his chair toppling over. "Damn the Assassins and the Templars, Élise! I told you before, all I ever wanted in my life was you. That's it. Not the Assassins, not the Templars, but _you!_ " he spat, jabbing a finger at her. "You, me, our children, and a nice home. That's it. That's all I ever wanted for myself was that. I never wanted any of this! I never wanted to be a part of this secret war. I never wanted to be an Assassin, Élise." He deflated then, a pathetic look in his brown eyes. "Just you… that's all I ever wanted."

Élise stared at him, stunned into silence. "I… I never had dreams like that Arno. I was always told what I was going to be when I was grown, the Templar Grand Master. I never had the privilege of imagining what I truly wanted, because… I was told what I truly wanted was to be the Grand Master."

Arno picked up his chair, and sat back down, taking her hand in his. He stroked the back of her knuckles. "Well, now you have the chance to… imagine something else."

"Are you suggesting we run away to some village and raise goats?" Élise asked, a bemused smile on her face. "I was joking about that, Arno, you do realize, right?"

Arno chuckled. "No, I'm not suggesting that. We'd have to fake our deaths in order to truly escape. What I'm saying is… now you don't have to see yourself as _only_ the Grand Master. You can… see yourself as something… else… too," Arno smiled at her, "that's all." He said, looking at her. "Will you at least think about it, Élise?"

"I will," Élise said, "but… I'm not making any promises." She leaned forward and pecked his lips. "We should… uh, see what secrets we can glean from those discs."

"Yes," Arno agreed, dropping her hand. "Yes, we should." He rose to his feet and went over to the bed to grab the discs. He came back to the table and gently set the bundle down. There was a soft melodious clink of glass. Arno unwrapped the bundle and pulled out the three discs with their beautiful designs of saints, one a woman and two men.

"Incredible," Élise whispered, lightly tracing the designs of the saints. "Is it glass?"

"I have no idea," Arno said, holding up on disc to the candle light. "Whoa," he muttered, seeing the ghostly image appear from the disc. He pulled it away from the light, then brought it back over again.

"What is it?" Élise asked, touching the ghostly image.

"It's made of light," Arno said, "what magic is this?" Élise shrugged. Arno turned the disc about, studying the image. He then set it down and held up the other two in turn.

"It's a map!" Élise said. "A map to the treasure. It tells how to access whatever lies beyond that door… no, how to find the keyhole to the door!" Élise grabbed Arno's arm, giddy with excitement. Arno set the disc down, grinning at Élise.

"You still have the key?" Arno asked. Élise nodded, pulling the key from a hidden pocket in her belt. It flashed a pale yet brilliant gold in the candlelight. She tucked it back into her belt. The church bell chimed, eight doleful knells, and the sound of rain had yet to lessen.

"Eight o'clock," Élise said, looking at Arno. He nodded. "We could… go now," she said. "The raiders would probably have left."

"No," Arno said, "they haven't. Léon says they sleep down there. In the large caverns, so in the morning they can start digging. Léon also says they have a runner go to the surface to check for dawn." Arno gave a thoughtful frown. "We can always sneak pass them. Like that one time when we were sixteen and we snuck out to meet at St. Raphael's."

Élise smiled, a girlish giggle escaping from her lips. "Indeed, I remember or how you slipped into my initiation party."

"Yes," Arno muttered, sobering. Élise pecked his cheek. Arno shook himself. "But we can sneak in and open the door. We have to get to the treasure before Rose does," Arno said, "or we kill him before he gets to it. I promised Léon I'd see Rose dies."

Élise rubbed Arno's arm. "And he will die, Arno. You'll keep your word to Léon. I promise."

Arno nodded, staring at the discs, shimmering in the candlelight. Arno silently grabbed Élise's hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed her palm; her breath caught in her throat.

It was soft, the press of his lips against her skin. Tender, even; as if she was fragile and made of glass. His breath ghosted over her skin; warm and moist. His eyes hooded, to hide the intensity of his emotions, what he feared she would see in those brown irises of his, she did not know. He kept her hand close to his face, his lips millimeters from her skin. She dare not break the silence, for if she did the world would shatter into ten thousand glittering shards. She trembled with pent up energy: fear, love, anxiety. She didn't know, didn't care. All that matter was him. The world had narrowed to him. Everything began and ended with him.

Slowly, she reached out for him; her fingertips brushed his cheek, felt the stubble beneath her fingers. He looked towards her then, a myriad of emotions filling his gaze. She swallowed, heart beating a furious tattoo against her ribs. She moved a half step closer. She could smell the cologne wafting from him, cinnamon and sandalwood, the scent of blood, the decay of the Seine, the sausage he ate for dinner. His mouth slightly open, the tips of his teeth visible, his tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip; she mouthed his name, not daring to break the silence. As if commanded, he inclined his head, leaning toward her and pressed his lips against hers. Her heart quickened, at the feel of his lips.

She gave a small gasp, parting her lips, his tongue darting in, as his hand traveled up and interlocked with her fingers. She inhaled, taking a slight step back, searching his face for answers. He merely inclined his head, his gaze avoiding hers, the intensity of their emotions too much for either of them. She did not know what happened, could not describe it for the life of her. "Let's... we better get going," Arno mumbled. Élise could only nod.

* * *

Arno and Élise left not long after they had eaten dinner. Traveling by rooftop to keep out of sight of any passing guards or thugs. The old windmill stood sentential in the darkness like a mutliarmed monster. Arno looked at the entrance, wishing he had a better lay out. He had tucked the discs into his coat pocket. Élise joined him.

"I feel like there's a lead weight in my stomach," she said. "I had that same feeling that night we faced Germain."

Arno took her hand, stroking the knuckles with his thumb. "It's not Germain that we face," he said.

"I know," Élise said, "but he could be just as dangerous."

"Remember how we took down Germain together?" Arno asked. Élise gave a little nod. "As long as we work together, we are unstoppable."

Élise smiled. "Arno and Élise against the world."

Arno laughed, a smiling blossoming upon his face. "Indeed, now into the darkness we go." He jumped down. Élise watched him get up from his landing and hold out his arms. She smiled and jumped. Sure enough Arno caught her with a soft grunt.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked.

"Fine," he said and took the moment to steal a kiss. They turned and face the entrance to the underground tunnels. Élise walked over to a pair of sleeping men and swiped their lantern. She lit it.

"Shall we?" she asked.

"We shall," Arno said and took her hand. Together they entered and began their descent into the catacombs of Franciade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And into the darkness they go. I wanted this chapter to be longer, but next chapter will have fights and action and de Sade. So… until then. :D
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> PS: Added stuff. Removed stuff.


	9. Turn the Lights Out

_And I will turn the lights out! Turn the lights out, turn the lights out. And lock this wicked word behind me. Lights out! Turn the lights out, turn the lights out, and lock the universe._ _—_ _Delain_

* * *

Bats squeaked overhead, pebbles crunched beneath their boots; there was a stillness in the air, thick and heavy like a blanket of snow. The silent dark pressed in around them, broken only by the lantern that Arno held aloft. Élise clutched his hand, not trusting whatever lay beyond their little pool of light. They followed the path Arno had taken on his first venture into the labyrinth of tunnels. They came to the slope that lead down to the grand chamber where the door was located. They could see light just beyond.

"What now?" Élise asked, looking at Arno. Arno leaned forward, trying to see how far the slope went down and if he could see anything beyond his limited line of sight. "Arno?"

"I go first," he said, "I think there's some scaffolding that rings the entire place. If not, it'll at least provide us a vantage point," he looked at her, "you come after me. I'll catch you."

"Promise?" Élise asked, even though she knew he would. Still she asked, since the slope was black as ink and reminded her of a great maw and throat.

"Of course _cher c_ _œ_ _ur_ ," Arno whispered and pecked her lips. He gave her the lantern, before looking at the slope. He could walk down it and climb the scaffolding, but he'd risk being spotted. He took a few steps back, sprinted and jumped at the slope, sliding down it. Élise stood, watching him vanish into the darkness. She heard him grunt, catching the scaffolding. The wood creaked, the echo reaching her ears, as Arno scaled it.

"Arno?" she hissed down the tunnel, holding the lantern aloft. She shuffled closer, pebbles clattering down the slope. The sound much too loud in her opinion.

"Élise," Arno hissed, she could barely make out his shape in the darkness. "I'm ready, come on."

Élise nodded, snuffed the lantern out with a huff and hooked it onto her belt, before jumping down the slope. She slid down the slope, leaning left or right to avoid the larger rocks. The grand chamber before her came rushing up, opulent and shimmering. She wondered what or rather who could have built this place. She was jerked to a sudden halt when Arno grabbed her by the arm. She bit her lip to keep from yelping. She jammed her foot into the support post of the scaffolding and grabbed Arno's arm with her other hand. She pushed off and he hauled her up to the scaffolding. "How's your shoulder?" she panted, clinging to the scaffolding.

"Fine," Arno gasped, before pressing his head against the wood.

"We can wait for a little bit, until they go to sleep," Élise said. Arno shook his head.

"No," he said, voice soft, glancing out at the assembly of men. They could hear leaders shouting commands to their subordinates to work harder and put their backs into it. They were close, yet they seemed to be stuck as to actually opening the door. Élise glanced at Arno and he nodded. They climbed up the scaffolding, and pressed themselves into the shadows, wearing the darkness like a well-loved cloak.

"Whomever heard of a locked door with no keyhole," one of the men said, as they walked by the scaffolding the two hid atop of.

"To be honest Jean-Pierre, this entire places gives me the spooks," his friend said. "We disturbed the bodies of the kings. They are angry with us."

"Hogwash," Jean-Pierre said. "There are no such things as ghost, Jules. If we don't find the keyhole, we'll just blow the door open."

"Then explain this place, Jean-Pierre!" Jules said, stopping before the scaffolding. "This place isn't built by Frenchmen. This place… I don't know what this place is!"

"We aren't paid to know," Jean-Pierre countered.

Élise looked at Arno. "What do we do?" she whispered. Arno looked about, before wriggling on his belly to the edge. Élise watched as he slowly rose into a crouch before jumping down on the two unsuspecting men. She heard the wet pop-crack of a man's neck breaking and the gurgle gasp of the other as Arno plunged his hidden blade into the man's throat. Arno climbed back up the scaffolding, and rejoined Élise in the shadows. "Won't anyone notice them?"

"By then we'll be gone," Arno said and looked around the vast cavern. "What is this place?" he studied the pillars. "The pillars look almost like… the same metal that made the sword."

"Don't touch any of it then," Élise hissed, grabbing Arno's hand. She shuddered, remembering that moment beneath the Temple, Arno grabbing the sword, whatever possessed him speaking to her, saying: _your beloved for mine?_ "Please."

"Élise," Arno said. "I'm not going to slit my throat because I touched some metal."

"I told you, Arno," Élise stressed, "that something spoke through you when you touched the sword!"

"This place isn't the sword, isn't the Temple," Arno said, kissing her cheek. "I'm not going to kill myself, Élise."

Élise looked at Arno, a mixture of love and fear in her eyes, the moment they shared in the room at the inn coming back to her, making her heart ache with emotions. She looked down at their hands; Arno's fingers wrapped around hers. His grip was warm, comforting, firm. "Alright," she ceded, placing her other hand on top of his and squeezing. "Alright."

Arno smiled, before looking out over the cavern. The leaders seemed to be clustered about the door, which seemed to glow with its inner light. "There," he said, gesturing to a circle near one pillar. It was edged in a pattern similar to the edges of the discs they had collected. "I bet that will trigger something," Arno said. Élise looked at it with suspicion.

"And what if it causes the entire system of caves to come crashing down on our heads?" Élise asked. Arno kissed her.

"Then we'll die together," he quipped, a cock-sure smirk on his face. Élise glowered at him, not impressed. He smiled, reaching out and rubbing her arm, "we'll be fine," he said before he jumped over the side of the scaffolding. "It'll be fine, Élise."

"Just come back to me," Élise said. "And be careful."

"I will, stay put, I'll single you when it's safe," Arno said and climbed down. Élise sighed, a bit miffed that she had to stay put but she was content to watch Arno flit from shadow to shadow, killing those that got too close to his hiding spot. She watched him step into the light, head on a swivel before he stepped on the circle in the floor. It sunk about an inch, a moaning sound echoed throughout the chamber and the earth as a yellow-green light in the shape of a person, hooded and cloak, appeared.

The men panicked, some falling to their knees praying to god, others fleeing while the rest stared stupidly at the specter. Élise noticed that on either side of the cavern, great chasms with an unearthly turquoise glow had appeared. Arno had vanished admits the chaos. She dropped her hand to her sword and slunk deeper into the shadows when she heard footsteps approaching the scaffolding. "Élise!"

Élise inched closer to the edge, spotting Arno standing there by the two bodies. "I told you it'll be fine," Arno said. Élise snorted as she climbed down, Arno's hands steading her the last few feet.

"I don't know, you appeared to have summoned a giant ghost and opened two chasms," Élise said as her feet touched the ground. She turned in time to see Arno roll his eyes. She smiled. "So, what do we do?"

"Go down one of the chasms," Arno said, "since the door clearly hasn't opened yet. Besides the discs showed the inside of those two chasms."

Élise sighed, glancing a nervous eye to the chasms and their turquoise glow. Arno took her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Alright then, let's go, the sooner we get this treasure the sooner we can get back to Paris." Élise pulled her hand free and headed towards the shadows at the edge of the cavern, she heard Arno follow her.

They reached the edge of the first chasm, the turquoise glow washing over them. Élise checked to make sure none of the men noticed her or Arno. She peered over the edge, the bottom looked a long way down yet there seemed to be a jagged path in the rock that one could climb down. Arno hopped over the edge, finding toe-holes almost by instinct. "You aren't seriously going to climb down there are you?" she asked.

Arno stared at her a bit baffled she wasn't enthusiastic. "It'll be alright," he said, watching her look around the massive cavern, her eyes resting on the specter and then the grand door. "Do you want to come?"

"I can't climb like you," she said, a smile gracing her lips. "I'll be fine right here. See if I can't find out what is this place."

"Alright," Arno said, "stick to the shadows then."

"I will," Élise assured him. Arno gave a curt nod before letting go of the edge. Élise watched him fall only to grab the next ledge, then let go again, repeating the processes until he had reached the bottom. He looked up at her and waved, she waved back and watched him vanish beyond her line of sight. "Be careful my love," Élise whispered before getting to her feet.

The cavern was huge, and she guessed it was at least a hundred feet high, if the titanic gleaming door was anything to go by. Élise took a breath and walked lightly, remembering what Arno taught her about masking her footsteps. She found it harder to do in the half-light of the cave, though Arno seemed to move as soundless as shadows. Then again he was an Assassin and had spent years learning how to move with silence.

Élise flitted between the shadows, keeping one hand on her sword hilt. She paused only once when she felt the earth tremble for a few seconds beneath her feet, the sound of stone grinding on stone reverberated throughout the chamber. Arno must've done something down there in the chasm.

She ducked behind the railing of the steps that lead to the massive door, heart thudding against her chest, the rushing sound of her own blood loud in her ears and she feared the rest of the cavern could hear it. She took a breath, held it before slowly letting it out. She straightened a bit, peeking over the ledge. She spotted Rose and another man.

Rose's companion wore a brown coat that fluttered like a bird's wings when he moved, flashes of red here and there and a sash of cream about his waist with the red Templar cross emblazon on it. Élise's eyes grew wide, wondering what the Templars were doing here. Arno had a suspicion that the Templars were ultimately behind this dig but as far as Élise knew she was the only Templar with any power left in France, the Order too disorganized since Germain's death to act swiftly enough to secure their interests in the dig.

"…are you sure?" the second man said. Élise frowned, his French was accented, but she couldn't place where the accent was from.

"Yes, I'm sure," Rose hissed. "The problem is we don't have the damn key to the door. Someone lifted it from Napoleon."

"Find it," the second man hissed. "Lady Eve will be vexed if you fail her."

"I don't see why you're even here, Cormac, you aren't even French," Rose said. Élise's eyes narrowed, wondering why an Irishman was here in the first place. "What happened to the colonel? The one who originally sought me out?"

The Templar sighed, "He met with an unfortunate accident."

"Oh," Rose muttered.

"Besides, my father owes Lady Eve a favor," Cormac said, "once this business is complete I return to Halifax."

"We will gain access, even if we have to blow up the damn door," Rose said. Cormac eyed the door and shifted his weight.

"Just make sure no innocents die," Cormac said and drew up his hood, "my father wasn't known as _the Wolf of the Artic_ for nothing. Good night, _Capitaine_." Élise watched as the young man left Rose standing there, walking down the steps at a brisk place. He moved like an assassin, blended into the shadows like an assassin and even wore wrist blades like an assassin, but his clothes and confidence were all Templar.

 _A wolf in sheep's clothing_ , Élise thought as she watched the young man leave. He stopped suddenly, Élise swallowed and she pressed herself deeper into the shadows. He turned, and Élise felt fear rise up into her chest, wondering how the hell the man even spotted her. Their gazes locked and for a brief moment, time stilled. _This must what it feels like to be prey. That instant when the prey knows that the predator will either strike or spare._ Élise thought, never taking her gaze from this Templar that moved like an Assassin.

He smirked.

Élise's eyes grew wide and he turned his gaze from her and continued on his way, boots thud-thunking in the darkness. Élise swallowed, feeling bile rise up in her throat. She never had been so terrified in her life, not even when she faced Germain. This man, Cormac, could have killed her if he wanted to and she knew in her marrow that there was nothing she could have done to stop it. Her thoughts drifted to Arno, and she realized in that moment if Arno ever had to face Cormac, he would not survive. Élise heaved, clapping a hand to her mouth before throwing up on the stone floor.

She panted, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Arno," she whispered, before slinking back over to the chasm.

By the time she got back, Arno had hauled himself out of the chasm. "Élise," he said as she came over to him.

"How's your shoulder? You didn't pop my stitches did you?" she asked. Arno shook his head. "Good." She sighed and offered him her hand, helping him climb over the lip. "What happened down there?"

"Had to solve a puzzle," Arno said, "it activated when I put the disc in an impression."

"I know," Élise said, "I felt the ground shake." She looked across the cavern to the other chasm. "One more chasm."

"Yes, do you want to come down with me?" Arno asked.

"No," Élise said, "I'm not as good at climbing as you. I told you that." Élise watched as Arno nodded and slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a disc.

"This one looks like it'll fit here, see," he pointed out the button on the floor he had pressed and the edges on the disc she held. "It needs to be put in last, but you can probably find the impression to put it in."

"Good plan," Élise said, slipping the disc into her belt. "Be careful Arno," she said, grabbing Arno's hand, "There's a Templar here."

"I know," Arno said, a smile coming to his lips, "she's beautiful."

Élise scowled and gave a sharper tug on his hang. "I'm serious Arno! There's another Templar here… besides me. His name is Cormac, and spoke of another person, a Lady Eve. But she isn't here. Cormac is here, please Arno, be careful. This man… he scared me, more so than Germain. He… he moves just like an assassin, even had hidden blades on his wrists."

Arno took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "I've killed an assassin before Élise," Arno said.

"Bellec was _just_ an Assassin. He wasn't a Templar with Assassin training. Cormac… he could've killed me if he wanted and… and I would've been powerless to stop him." Élise said, she bit her lip looking away. "So promise me you'll be careful Arno. I… I don't want to lose you."

Arno's expression softened and he lifted Élise's chin so he could look at her. "I'll be careful," he said, thumb tracing her lips, "I promise. Do you have any idea who he is, though?"

"No," Élise said, "Cormac is an Irish name, but I'm unfamiliar with any Templar family by that name. He speaks French, but not with any true fluency, as if he learned it as a second language. He also claims to be from Halifax or at least that's where he'll return to, so he's either American or Canadian."

"I see," Arno mumbled. "I'll keep my guard up, if he has training as an assassin, I'll won't be caught off guard so easily."

"I believe you," Élise said.

Arno pulled her into a hug, she clung to him, drinking in his scent. "You won't lose me, Élise," Arno whispered, "I promise."

Élise nodded, "I know," she said. Arno smiled, gave her one more squeeze before letting her go. She watched him slip into the shadows, wearing the darkness like a cloak. She turned her attention to the sparkling specter which now seemed to be pointing at the door. Most of the men that had been around it had left, heading off to either their beds or to some other task.

This allowed Élise to snoop around, looking for the impression Arno spoke of. She didn't find anything, even after the second tremor shook the cavern. She did however, find a perfect cross cut into the rock, almost like a door to allow something to come out. She ran her fingers along it, trying to get her fingernails into the seams, but they were smooth and closed. She pulled out her sword and tried to wedge the tip in but it no avail. "Damn," she muttered.

She sheathed her sword and stood up. The sparkling specter remained silent, pointing ahead to the door. Élise swallowed, backing away from it and ducking around the pillar. She slid down it until she sat and pulled out the disc. It shimmered in the dim light as she tilted it back and forth. "Strange," she said. She slipped it back into her belt when she heard someone hiss her name. She looked in the direction of the sound, before getting up and heading to the second chasm.

She spotted Arno on the ledge, climbing over it, exhaustion written on his face. "Oh my god, Arno!" she squeaked, rushing to him. She skidded to a halt, dropping to her knees. "Are you alright?"

"Shoulder hurts," he said, "but no worse for wear. Did you find—" he stopped when another tremor shook the place and the sound of stone grinding on stone echoed in the chamber. Élise looked towards the specter and saw that the spot she had found had opened up, a pedestal appeared with a ring atop it.

"Yes," she said. "Let's go." Élise got to her feet.

"Élise," Arno said as he got to his feet. She stopped, turning to face him. "Whatever happens… whatever lays beyond that door, if…" Arno stopped and licked his lips. "If something happens to me, I want you to run."

"I'm not going to be abandon you Arno," Élise said, fire flashing in her eyes. "I can protect myself. I don't need you protecting me."

He looked away. "Then if something happens to me, I want you to keep yourself safe. I can save myself."

Élise chuckled, closing the gap between them. "Very well," Élise said, "but only if you keep yourself safe."

"Deal," Arno said, a smirk gracing his lips. They walked up to the specter and the pedestal. Élise pulled the disc out of her belt and place it in the ring. A loud shrill crescendoing hum sounded and the specter condensed into a beam of light that shot through the disc and landed on the door.

"There!" Élise pointed, to the spot the light touched. "I bet that's the keyhole!" She ran off towards the door, Arno following her. She slowed to a walk before the door, stopping when she reached it. She put a shaky hand on the grand door. "How do we get up there?"

"Give me the key," Arno said, Élise pulled the key from her belt and handed it to Arno. He slipped it into his teeth before scaling the door. He reached the point of light and inserted the key, turning it in its lock. There was a rumble, stone grinding on stone and Arno jumped back down, landing in a crouch.

Slowly the door opened, revealing another grand chamber. Three tiers, in a steady incline to the far end where something glowed. The couple made for the door but a slow clap stopped them. Élise drew her sword.

"Well, well, color me impressed," Rose said, walking up to them. "I figured you two were behind everything. The boy escaping, this place shaking, the key going missing from Napoleon. Very impressive. You are rather skilled thieves."

"I'm an _Assassin_ ," Arno hissed, and Élise heard the note of pride in his voice as he declared himself a member of the Brotherhood.

"And I'm a Templar," Élise said, smiling as she came to Arno's side. "Though I wouldn't go bragging about your success Monsieur Rose," Élise purred, "considering we did most of the work."

Rose's eyes grew wide when he spotted Élise and for the first time she felt dread coil in the pit of her stomach. Not for herself, but for Arno. "You're the bitch that defended the boy from Napoleon!" Rose said. Élise watched Arno bristle.

"Indeed," Élise said. "Arno, this man wanted to kill Léon." Élise said, eyes darkling as Rose's eyes grew wide, realizing that he had signed his death warrant. She heard Arno draw his sword.

"What?" Arno hissed, as he stalked towards Rose. The captain growled, drawing his own sword. Élise couldn't help but smirk.

Their swords rang with a metallic clash, and Élise heard the smack of Arno's fist against Rose's jaw. She glanced over her shoulder, and considered running to the far end, where the mysterious objected glowed, but then she saw it.

The man that was rushing Arno from behind. Élise new that even if she shouted, Arno would not have time enough turn around and bring his sword to guard and she doubted his delicate looking hidden blade could withstand such an impact. She glanced once more at the mysterious glowing object at the far end of the second chamber, before rushing towards Arno.

She lunged, her sword catching the blow. The sound of metal against metal rang loudly, sending shivers up her arm and Élise had to grab the hilt with her other hand to keep her grip on her sword. Gritting her teeth into a snarl, she put her weight into her upward thrust, disengaging her opponent's weapon from her sword.

Pivoting, she slammed her back against Arno's, heard him grunt and felt him bend his knees slightly to compensate for her presence. Élise fended off the furious blows of her opponent. "Took you long enough," Arno panted. Élise flipped her grip, catching her opponent's weapon with the flat of her sword. She kicked out, the heel of her boot catching the man in the groin. He howled, staggering backward, both hands going to his balls.

"I couldn't let the man I'm going to marry get stabbed in the back," Élise chimed, bending her knees as Arno was forced back by Rose's strikes. She sprung up, bringing her sword to guard as her opponent recovered and launched Arno at Rose with an unexpected speed.

"We need to end this," Arno grunted.

"And soon, before others come," Élise said. She didn't know how much longer she could last, her arms were getting tired. She made a mental note to spar with Arno once they got back to Paris. "Any plans?" she asked, blocking her opponent's strike.

"We spin around, and you shoot Rose in the face?" Arno said.

"Lovely, that's the best you can do?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Arno quipped, blocking Rose's blow.

"Not that the moment," Élise shot back, lunging at her opponent but he leapt out of the reach. He grinned, beckoning her and she knew he was baiting her, trying to get her away from Arno so he could over power her with his strength. "It'll do," she said.

"On three?" he asked.

"Naturally. You're counting off?" Élise asked, taking a step back as he lunged for Rose. She heard him mutter _merde_ , clearly missing his mark.

"Yes," he said. Élise heard him count off and as one they spun. Élise grabbed her pistol, thumb pulling back the dogshead. Rose rushed towards them, only to skid to a halt at the sight of Élise and her pistol. She gave a nasty smirk.

Two pistols cracked, coughing fire and iron.

Rose gasped, blood spurting from his mouth as the ball struck him in the chest. He staggered back, sword dropping with a clang. His hands went to his chest as he toppled onto his side. Élise looked at Arno, his shoulders rising and falling as he gasped for breath. Élise peered passed him to see the other dead man, face a ruined mess where the ball struck. She shoved her pistol into its holster. Arno did the same and looked at Rose. The man gave them a bloody grin before sighing his last breath.

Élise wrinkled her nose as the stench of shit wafted up. "Pig in life, pig in death," Élise hissed, kicking Rose's body.

"Léon will be pleased that he's dead," Arno said, sheathing both his sword and pistol. Élise sheathed her sword as well. "Let's go see what's glowing over there, shall we?"

Élise grabbed his hand. "Let's!" she agreed, allowing him to lead her.

* * *

They reached the other end of the second chamber, only to be met by a cage. Inside the cage was a statue shaped like a head. "It looks to be the head of Saint Denis," Élise said. She let go of Arno's hand and gripped the bars giving them a shake. "They won't budge," Élise growled.

"There has to be a way to open this," Arno said, "I mean someone put this here."

"Maybe the key?" Élise asked, looking about the structure. She heard a sudden rumble, the pedestal the head of Saint-Denis was sitting on suddenly elevating. "What did you do, Arno?" Élise asked, looking at him askew. He stepped back.

"I pressed a button," he said and the pedestal stopped rising with a sigh. "Now we can get it," he looked at her, "I'll be right back," he said and climbed up the pedestal's former cage. Élise watched him, swallowing whenever he lost his grip or footing for a moment, but Arno made it to the top safely.

"Well?" Élise asked. Arno walked over to the ledge, holding the head.

"Here, catch," he said, his voice playful. Élise held out her hands and he dropped it. She caught it. It was made from steel, yet there was something within the head, a soft rose and gold glow poured out from the eyes and mouth of the head. Arno landed beside her.

"What is it?" she asked, as she handed it to Arno.

"I have no clue," he said, just as mystified as her. They looked towards the exit, hearing footsteps.

"Oi! You there! Hand it over!" one of the raiders ordered, holding on his hand. Élise felt Arno's arm snake around her waist, pulling her close to him.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, as he held the head aloft. There was a crackle similar to lighting and then a brilliantly blindly flash of light and the squeak of a thousand bats as the descended in anger upon the raider. Élise found herself clutching Arno. "Amazing," he whispered, before applying a gentle pressure to the small of her back. They began to walk towards the exit, Arno occasionally calling the bats with the head upon the raider.

Élise merely clung to him, flinching whenever Arno charged the head. Yet, no raiders followed them and they made their way through the chamber and into the first one and finally the tunnels. They walked along the tunnels for several minutes until they heard the sound of rushing water. "Are you sure you can get us back to the surface?" Élise asked when they stopped at the edge.

"Of course," Arno said, "remember Léon said to not go down the left fork but the right because the left fork lead to an underground river?"

"Oh right," Élise said, looking away, a bit embarrassed she forgot. Arno studied the head before shaking it firmly, until whatever was crammed into it flopped into his hand. He tossed the empty head away, staring at the iridescent golden ball in his hand.

Both recognized it as a Piece of Eden. Arno ran his hands along the smooth metallic surface of the artifact. Élise held out her hands and lightly touched it, breath catching in her throat.

She remembered the lessons her father gave her on the Pieces of Eden, remembered him telling her of Reginald Birch, the British Grand Master and how he sought a hidden stash of such objects, of the blighted Borgia and their Apple of Eden, and how Robert de Sable found an Apple beneath the Temple of Solomon during the Crusades.

She never thought she'd see one herself, but wonders of wonders, one was buried beneath Franciade. She wondered if Jacques de Molay hid this here before the King Philip betrayed him or maybe whomever crafted such objects were the ones that did. Regardless of whomever hid this, Élise was positive they had found a fabled Apple of Eden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> Turn the Lights Out (c) Delain
> 
> This chapter was so hard to get going, probably because I was trying to follow the actual Dead Kings DLC for this chapter, but half-way through it I said fuck it and wrote it how I felt instead of trying to follow the game exactly and it just took off!
> 
> And cliffhangers! Omg, what will Élise do now that she has an Apple within her grasp? What will Arno do? 
> 
> The next chapter will be exciting. Stay with me, the roller coaster is just starting!
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> PS: It's not Shay!  
> PPS: And edit shit


	10. Fear and Fire

The subterranean river rushed by hundreds of feet below in the darkness. Arno could feel the cool spray fly up, hissing against the rocks. His eyes, however were fixed on the iridescent golden ball in his hands. He never seen anything like it before, never heard of any object quiet like it. Its otherworldliness was akin to the Sword of Eden, and he could only assume they had been crafted by the same people eons ago. The ball hummed when Élise placed her fingertips on it.

"What is it?" Arno asked, looking up at Élise. The ball cast her face in a golden glow, her hair shimmering like flames. "Have you seen anything like it?"

"No," she whispered, awe in her voice. "But I know what it is."

"You do?" Arno asked, a bit baffled that she did. Then again, she grew up fully aware that she was a Templar.

"Yes," Élise said, "my father spoke of it and showed me a picture of it in a book kept by the Templars," Élise looked up at Arno, "it's an Apple of Eden."

Arno's eyes grew wide. "By God…" he breathed. Bellec had told him of the Borgia, how they tried to use the Apple to control Italy and how the Assassin, Ezio Auditore stopped them and hid the Apple. Bellec had made him read Ezio's writings, and the Italian spoke of the power of the Apple, its ability to control the minds of men or shatter them.

"Do you know what this means, Arno?" Élise asked, holding his gaze with her own. "Do you realize what this means for _us_?"

"Élise," Arno whispered, and there it was, that look in her eyes again. The same look she had during their fight with Germain when he was pinned by the rubble and she torn between assisting him and going after Germain: Apologetic, but unrepentant. The transformation was insidious, like a cloud drifting over the sun. Arno swallowed and pulled the Apple away from Élise's grasp, her fingers sliding from its smooth metallic surface. He took a step back; pebbles clattered down to the river below. "No," Arno finally said, "I don't want to know."

Élise blinked, shock written on her face. "Arno," she said, her tone honey-sweet, "you don't understand what this could mean! This could change the future of France… no the world!"

"Whatever it can do, it's not good," Arno said, "why else would someone put it down here and lock it away!"

Élise shook her head, a chuckle escaping her lips. The sound jarred Arno's nerves, sending chills down his spine and making the hairs on his nape stand up. "Whomever put it down here was a fool," Élise said, taking a step towards Arno. "They failed to see the _gift_ they held in their hands! This Apple can be used for so much good!"

Arno shook his head, heart thudding against his ribcage. "No," he breathed, "no, Élise. This is not right… such power doesn't belong in the hands of men."

"There is no such thing as gods, Arno," Élise said, her hands open and palms up. "This power _only_ belongs in the hands of men."

"And who's to decide who's worthy of such power, Élise? You? Me? The Assassins? The—"

Élise scoffed, "Why, the Templars are the _only ones_ worthy of wielding such power, Arno. We have the Father of Understanding to guide us. To show us the correct path, and application of such power."

"Élise, listen to yourself," Arno said, "Templars _killed_ your father. Corruption runs rampant in the Templar Order and you know it. Was Germain _worthy_ of wielding this?" Arno asked holding up the Apple.

"Of course he wasn't, Arno! I would never let a lunatic like Germain wield this!" Élise said.

"Then who decides? Germain had the Sword of Eden! Imagine what he could do with this Apple? Or both? The Borgia in the 15th Century nearly enslaved all of Italy, to the determinate of mankind if it weren't for Ezio Audi—"

"But I wouldn't be like that Arno!" Élise snapped. "I would only use the Apple for good."

"No, Élise. Some things are just too powerful for us to wield without corruption. This Apple is one such thing. Please, let's give it to the Assassins—"

"Why?" Élise hissed, acid in her tone. "So they can lock it up and throw away the key? Never mind all the good it can do! We can save the world, Arno! Quell that last spark of the Revolution and restore peace and make sure there only ever _will_ be peace!"

"The peace you speak of Élise," Arno said, "is an illusion. Tell me, Élise? How many would suffer for your vision of peace? For a better world?" Arno looked at the Apple in his hands, "this thing does not belong in the open. It belongs in a vault buried and forgotten, for all eternity!"

Élise shook her head. "Arno, please if you would only listen and—"

"No!" Arno said. He bit his lip, shifted the Apple to his right hand and held it over the dark chasm. Élise froze, eyes fixed on the glowing orb in Arno's hand. "Élise, please listen to me. This isn't like you. I _know you!_ Please, Élise… you would never make slaves of humanity and place your boot on the world's neck!" Arno shouted and tears began to well up in his eyes.

Élise sighed, shaking her head. "And I wouldn't, Arno. You know that. By your own admission, you know that!" She hazarded a half-step towards him, and Arno inched back, more pebbles falling down into the chasm to join the river below. He glanced over his shoulder, swallowing a bit. "Please, Arno, I—"

"I'll drop it!" Arno said. "I swear to god, Élise, I'll drop it!"

Élise stopped, eyes wide in horrified shock. "No, Arno, listen to me, you're making a mistake. If you would just listen, we can go back to Paris and—"

Arno awkwardly drew his sword, leveling it at her chest. He couldn't hold back the tears now; they fell freely from his eyes. The tip of his blade brushed the dangling bit of lace at Élise's throat. If it came down to a fight he'd lose, he was terrible with his left hand; Élise on the other hand was skilled with both. "Not another step," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Templar."

"Arno," Élise said, her voice mournful. Arno squeezed his eyes shut. Bellec was right, he had always been right about everything. Élise did betray him. The temptation of the Apple's power was too much for Élise. "Arno, please listen to me! Let me explain."

"No! You move one step closer and I'll cut out your heart!" Arno shouted. Élise's eyes grew wide at such a threat. She could see the pain in Arno's eyes, the fear; his sword level at her breast. Yet, Élise felt a profound disconnect, as if she was watching the scene as an onlooker oppose to an active participant.

"Arno, give me the Apple," Élise said holding out her hand, her voice cool and merciless. Arno shook his head. He sniffed, licked his lip, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. How could things go so wrong so fast? They were going to get married, have a life together. All of it seemed like a pipe dream now.

"No," Arno said. "I won't let you enslave the world, Élise."

"I'm not going to, Arno!" Élise protested. "I'm trying to save the world from itself! If you would just give me the Apple… I'll show you I speak the truth!"

"No! Élise please, stop this madness!" Arno begged. It hurt so much. Why did it hurt so much? The woman before him looked like his Élise, sounded like his Élise, but _wasn't_ his Élise. He didn't want to her hurt regardless, but holding his sword at her heart, he knew that he wouldn't hesitate to strike her down if she made a grab for the Apple. "Please," he said. "I don't want to be forced to kill you."

Élise gave a disappointed sigh. "I thought you were different Arno," she said. "I thought that maybe you could see the truth."

"What truth, Élise? Tell me what truth could you possibly see for all I see now is power-driven madness!" Arno said. Élise snorted, and batted the sword away as she took a step back. If Arno wouldn't give her the Apple on his own free will, she'll just take the Apple from him, _before_ he could get it to the Assassins.

"You wouldn't understand Arno," Élise said, a tragic expression on her face, "the Assassins have successfully turned you against me. Shame really," Élise glanced her feet before meeting Arno's gaze, "I still love you though, Arno. I'll never stop loving you."

Arno felt his heart shatter as the weight of his choice set in. "Élise, wait…" he whispered, but she shook her head.

"No, Arno," she said, "I know where your true loyalties lie, and they aren't with me. I'll find my own way back to Paris." She gave Arno one last smile. "I'm sorry." Élise turned around and walked into the darkness.

"Élise! Élise! Élise!" Arno called, but she didn't come back. He fell to his knees where he stood, the Apple rolled from his hand as his sword clattered to the ground. Arno heaved a sob, falling forward and catching himself on his arms. "Élise, please…" he whispered, yet he didn't feel guilt, for in his hearts of heart, he knew he made the right choice. He was an Assassin, and they were tasked with keeping such objects out of Templar hands, for the betterment of mankind, even if they loved the enemy. "I love you…"

* * *

Dawn had reached Franciade by the time Arno got out of the catacombs. Élise was nowhere to be found and he didn't think he could face her if he did run into her. He closed his eyes, shaking his head, the pain in his heart hurt too much. Arno sighed heavily, before making his way to Madame Margo's Home for Foundlings. He knocked on the door and the old woman answered after a few minutes. "Oh, Monsieur Dorian," she said, voice tinged with surprise. Arno gave her a weak smile. "Where's Élise?"

"I… I don't know," Arno said, hand dropping to the hastily constructed pouch at his hip that contained the Apple. "Is Léon here?"

"Yes," she said.

"I wish to speak with him," Arno said, "if… if he would let me." Arno forced a weak smile to his lip, and Madame Margo nodded, muttering about getting breakfast ready and fetching the boy. She opened the door wider, allowing Arno to enter, and went to fetch Léon.

The boy was down a few minutes later, a wide grin on his face. "Arno!" he cried, hugging the Assassin. Arno smiled, placing a hand on the child's head. "Where's Élise? Is she with you?"

Arno hesitated for a heartbeat. "No," Arno said. "I don't know where she is."

"But…" Léon began but Arno smiled at Léon and lead him to a quiet corner in the room. He knelt down with a sigh and stared at the boy.

"Captain Rose is dead," Arno said and to his surprise the boy didn't smile or whoop for joy, he simply gave a grim nod.

"Good."

"The treasure I found is… a very ancient artifact. I have to protect it. There are bad people that want to take it and use it for ill."

"Is Élise one of those bad people? Is that why she isn't with you?" Léon asked. Arno blinked, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He looked away. Élise wasn't a bad person, just misguided.

"No," Arno said, a weak smile coming to his lips. "She isn't, Léon. She helping me."

"Good, I didn't think Élise was a bad person," Léon said, smiling at Arno. "Can I come to Paris with you?"

"No," Arno sighed. "You can't… I'm sorry."

"Oh…" Léon's shoulder slumped and he looked away. "I promise I'll be good, I'll mind you and Élise! Please, can I come?"

Arno chuckled, and rubbed at his eyes trying not to show his tears. "Eventually," he finally said, "there are some things I have to take care of before I bring you to Paris."

"You'll come back for me, right? You promise?" Léon asked, grabbing Arno's arms. "Please, tell me you'll come back for me?"

Arno saw the desperate look in the boy's eyes, understood the pain all too acutely. He nodded and hugged the boy. "I promise Léon, I promise. I'll come back for you."

"I believe you, Arno," Léon said, hugging the Assassin in return. Arno let go first, standing up and ruffling Léon's hair.

"Make sure you practice your sword skills while I'm gone. I want you to be able to beat me when I come back," Arno said. "Oh, and the manuscript."

"Oh, right!" Léon shouted, "I'll go get it right now!" he bolted off, heading towards his secret stash.

Arno chuckled, resting his hands on his hips. He smiled at Madame Margo. "He's a good kid."

"Will you be back?" she asked, eyeing Arno. "You mean a lot to him."

"I'll be back," Arno said. "I have to take care of some things first though, but I'll be back and I'll take him to Paris. I swear."

"I believe you," Madame Margo said.

"You're a kind woman to be taking in these poor children," Arno said, smiling at the faces that were poking out from the shadows. Madame Margo laughed, tucking some iron grey hair back up into her bonnet.

"I'm not a kind woman, Monsieur Dorian," Madame Margo said, "just a regretful one."

"How so?"

"I had a son once," Madame Margo said, her voice said. "He's gone now."

Arno bowed his head. "I'm sorry for your lost."

"Oh good heavens," she said, "he isn't dead. I left him. I couldn't go back because of the circumstances so I opened this orphanage. He would've wanted me to be a mother to the children that have none."

"You must be a very good mother then," Arno said. "I, too, know what it's like to not have a mother. She left me and my father when I was still a small child, too little to remember." Arno frowned, his conflicting emotions over his mother welling up, he wished Élise was here, so he could hold her hand, feel her comfort, strength and love, alas, she was gone.

"I'm sorry Monsieur Dorian," Madame Margo said, "if I may offer advice?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't let your anger or hate cloud your judgement of your mother," Madame Margo said, "I'm sure she left because she loved you and wanted to protect you."

"I don't—"

"I got it Arno!" Léon shouted, coming back, waving the manuscript about.

"Don't wave it about like that Léon," Arno said, walking over to the boy briskly. He took it and slipped into his coat pocket. "Thank you." Arno patted Léon on the back. "I must go now, I have to make a few more arrangements."

"Alright," Léon said and hugged Arno. "I'll miss you."

"I'll come back, I promise," Arno said, and let go of the boy. "Take good care of him," he told Madame Margo before leaving.

* * *

Arno walked into the tavern that evening, the stink of wine and vomit hit him like a punch to the gut. The dreary and weary men of Franciade for a moment forget their troubles as wine and ale flowed freely, boisterous laughter filling the tavern. Arno walked among the crowd, seen and then instantly forgotten, even by those still sober. He allowed himself to smirk a little as he made his way to a table in the shadows. He spotted the Marquis de Sade and sat down opposite him.

"Good evening," the Marquis said. Arno inclined his head, and gave the barmaid a pretty smile when she came over. He ordered some ale. "I don't see why you went with the ale, it taste like horse piss."

"I don't plan to stay long," Arno said, glancing about the room. He looked for anything odd, remembering that Bellec told him about how the ones that appear to be the most fitting in for the situation are almost always the enemy. _Desperate men tend to over exaggerate their part, in hopes nobody notices them. Watch for those men, pisspot._ Arno dug into his pocket, eyes still searching the room, before sliding it over to the Marquis. "As promised."

"I knew you'd come through for me, dear boy," de Sade said, taking the manuscript and tucking it into his jacket. "And where is your sweet Élise?"

"We… parted," Arno said, hanging his head, "on bad terms. We found something beneath Franciade and we disagreed on its fate. I haven't seen her since." Arno hoped Élise was alright. He had given the Apple to a member of the Brotherhood that was stationed here, with clear instructions to see it safely to Cairo. He tried not to think about Élise, but it was difficult. The sad look in her eyes as she left, her declaration that despite everything that came between them she'll always love him, the future they were planning that could never be. It left him cold and hollow inside.

" _Arno_ ," de Sade said, slapping the table and causing Arno to jump, "are you listening?"

"Pardon?" Arno asked, looking up. "Sorry," he shook his head, "I didn't catch that."

The Marquis twitched his lips into an amused smile. "I said I had the reward deposited into your collection box at the Café Théâtre."

"Oh," Arno blinked, "thank you," he said. He smiled when the barmaid came back, setting down his ale. He took a sip, making at face at the taste.

"I told you it tasted like horse piss," de Sade chuckled. Arno glowered and the displaced noble, before leaning back in his chair. "And what do you plan to do now?"

"Head back to Paris in the morning," Arno said. _And try to forget my broken heart._ "I have to speak with the Brotherhood, see if they'll reinstate me."

"And Élise?"

"I don't know…" Arno looked away, "like I said we parted on bad terms. Maybe after I speak with the council I'll look for her, but Élise can vanish when she doesn't want to be found."

"Well," the Marquis said, "her father's death and your involvement in the entire plot left a bad taste in her mouth, but you eventually swallow it and all that's left is the sweetness. She'll come around."

Arno looked at the man before shaking his head. "I hope you're right," Arno said. He took another swig from the tankard, coughed as he forced it down his throat. He set a livre on the table before getting up. "I have to go."

"You know where to find me in Paris, my dear boy, until then," the Marquis waved, "ta ta."

* * *

The return trip to Paris was uneventful, and Arno somehow managed to fall asleep during the ride despite the bumpy road. The maids were delighted to see him, asking him about his trip and if he needed anything. Though he heard them murmur about how Élise was no longer with him, and they wondered if something terrible had befallen her. Thinking about Élise still caused his heart to ache. He expected the council to summon him as soon as he returned, but it wasn't until the third day since his return did a message come for him, and Valérie telling him he's expected as soon as his breakfast was finished.

Arno finished his breakfast, washed his face and then headed to the Sanctuary. He was met by Trenet on his way to the council chamber. "Ah, Arno," she said in lieu of greeting, "I wanted to speak with you, this way."

"Valérie said that the council…" Arno began but trailed off when Trenet waved her hand dismissively. Arno sighed, rubbing the side of his nose, feeling the lump where the break was beneath his fingers. He followed Trenet to the Mentor's office. She sighed, smiling fondly at the old cherry wood desk, before taking her seat behind it. She leaned forward and interlocked her fingers. Arno swallowed, having difficulty holding her gaze.

"Arno Victor Dorian," Trenet said and Arno swallowed feeling like a boy again getting scolded by his father, he threaded his fingers together and tapped his thumbs, trying to look apologetic. "I have come a decision on your future among the Brotherhood," she looked at him, "welcome back into the fold, brother."

Arno shot his head up, eyes growing wide. "You… you've reinstated me?"

"On one condition," Trenet said. "You swear to obey all orders and follow our tenets."

Arno gave her a half-smirk, letting out a snort of derision. "I'm sorry Mentor, but I will not blindly follow orders when they go against what I believe in. We fight for the freedom of mankind, yet we hold ourselves too tightly to a Creed, and believe that all who don't think like us _must_ be wrong. Before Bellec died… he told me to kill him, to prove to him that I had conviction, and wasn't just a – as he put it – a love addled milksop," Arno said.

Trenet chuckled, slapping her desk lightly. "I knew you would say something along these lines. Pierre did always say you were headstrong. He also said you probably followed the Creed in its purest form than any of us," Trenet smiled, "Altaïr ibn La'Ahad said the Creed commands us to be wise."

"I disagree," Arno said, "the Creed is not a writ of permission, it's a warning."

"A warning? Against what, might I ask?" Trenet asked.

"Blind faith. It's too easy for an idea, a way of thinking to morph into radicalized dogma with zealous followers willing to fight, kill, and die for it."

"The crucible of the revolution taught you that, no?" Trenet asked. Arno nodded. "Well, you are still wise to coming to such conclusion. The Creed means something different for each Assassin. Do not feel as if you are obligated to believe one interpretation or another."

"Yes, Mentor," Arno said.

"Though you've been reinstated Arno," Trenet began, "I feel it is best that you start from the bottom. Altaïr ibn La'Ahad had to regain the respect and trust of his brothers and sisters, as you now must. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mentor." Arno bowed his head. "Thank you, Mentor."

"There is one other matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Which is?"

"I have decided to accept Grand Master de la Serre's truce," Trenet announced, "even though Quemar and Beylier are both against it. I feel that with you and her working together to maintain the peace between our two orders it… could work."

"I see," Arno said, before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He heaved a great sigh before looking and Trenet. "I disagree. It's not worth it, this truce. Templars act as if they care… as if they are willing to work with us, but they only see us as a stepping stone towards their goals and if we fail to serve their purpose, they will not hesitate to cut ties with us. I'm starting to think Bellec had the right idea."

Trenet arched a brow, tilting her head to the side, and staring at him completely moonstruck. "This…" she began, "this doesn't sound like you, Arno. Last we spoke you presented a very logical, moderate and convincing argument _for_ peace between Templar and Assassin. What changed?"

"The Apple," Arno said. "Élise and I found an Apple of Eden beneath Franciade."

"An Apple of Eden," Trenet said, "this is troubling. Where is it now?"

"With a member of our Brotherhood on its way to Cairo."

"Good, good. The Mentor of the Egyptian Brotherhood will know what to do. And what of Élise de la Serre? Is she in your room at the café?"

"No," Arno shook his head, "I don't know where she is. Frankly, I don't want to know. She made her choice."

"Lovers' spat then," Trenet nodded. "I see—"

"No, you don't see," Arno hissed. "Élise wanted to use the Apple to control the world in an effort to bring peace! She had this fanciful notion that by using the Apple she could make the world a better place!"

"This does pose a serious problem," Trenet said, "yet it seems like Mademoiselle de la Serre has good intentions. We all desire peace, a return to the stability of France. She's simply misguided." Trenet leaned forward looking at Arno. "If you feel that it's best to nullify this truce before it begins than I will, you know Élise de la Serre the best, but you have convinced me Arno that peace with the Templars, at least in France, is a valid option," Trenet leaned back, "it's a rather impulsive change of heart for you, a man of such stubborn and strong convictions. I will send word to her, even if your romance with Grand Master de la Serre has soured."

Arno opened and closed his mouth several times before bowing his head. "Of course Mentor. I understand. The truce—"

"I don't want to hear it now Arno," Trenet said, holding up her hand, "think about it. I'm still going to contact Grand Master de la Serre and offer to negotiate with her. Go, you're dismissed now." Arno stood and bowed, he turned heading towards the door. "Oh and Arno, do try to smile, you have been reinstated into the Brotherhood after all."

"I'm truly honored, Mentor," Arno said, though his tone was painfully neutral. "Good day," he finished and left.

* * *

Élise snarled as she walked away from the merchant. It was the fifth spice merchant that turned her away. None were willing to take her to Cairo so she could hunt for the Apple. She had followed Arno after he left the orphanage, to see where he would hide the Apple. He had given it to a member of his Brotherhood, telling the man to take the Apple to Egypt. She failed to catch the carriage and liberate the Assassin of his precious cargo. Now, she wandered through the streets of Paris, trying to find someone willing to take her to Cairo.

"Élise?" a voice called to her. Élise stopped, heart skipping a beat as she turned, his name coming to her lips only to die there at the sight of the one-legged man before her. "Good god, you're a damn bloody sight for sore eyes girl."

"Mr. Weatherall!" Élise said, rushing over to her mentor and hugging him. "Oh, I… I'm sorry," she admitted. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've said those things. I… I should've listened."

"There, there," Weatherall said, patting her back. "you made it through the crucible, no harm done. Stand back, let me get a good look at you," he held Élise back a bit, a proud smile coming to his face. "Ah yes. Beautiful like your mother."

"Thank you," Élise murmured, pulling free.

"So?" Weatherall said, looking around, "Where is he?"

"Where's who, Mr. Weatherall?" Élise asked, feinting confusing. She knew her teacher was referring to Arno, but Élise didn't want to think about Arno and his foolish stubborn refusal to give her the Apple.

"Why, Arno, of course!" Weatherall replied jovially. "You yak my ear off about him, and now that everything is said and done, I'd like to meet the lad that has so thoroughly captured your heart." Weatherall smiled at her, leaning on his crutches. "So, where is he?"

"Arno and I are no longer together," Élise said. "We parted on bad terms. We found an Apple and he refused to see reason. I've learned he sent it to Egypt. I'm currently looking for passage to Cairo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> This chapter is rather depressing. Hopefully the next chapter will be happier, we'll see.
> 
> Overall I'm pleased with this chapter. I truly like the parts with Elise. The duality of her character, her torn nature, trying to justify her actions not only to herself but to Arno, knowing that her actions did hurt him and also hurt herself (because she loves him)... I simply love her. 
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> PS: Edited stuff


	11. Blood

_Blood, blood, blood, pump mud through my veins_ _,_ _shut your dirty, dirty mouth, I'm not that insane_ _!_ _Blood, blood, blood, pump mud through my veins_ _,_ _I'm a dirty, dirty girl, I want it filthy. (I hate you for every time you ever bled for me) — In This Moment_

* * *

Élise swallowed as her teacher stared at her for several long moments. "Cairo," he said. She nodded in confirmation. "Bloody hell, Élise! You are not going to Cairo!"

Élise sighed, she knew Mr. Weatherall would say that. She knew he wouldn't approve. "I have to Mr. Weatherall. I have to retrieve the Apple before the Assassins lock it up for good! I can use it to bring peace!"

"Bloody hell, girl," Weatherall said, shaking his head in dismay. "Do you hear yourself? Use the Apple? I know you had lessons on pervious Templars. Need I remind you about the Borgia?"

"They were greedy and selfish, thinking only of themselves. I'm not, I plan to use the Apple to better mankind."

"The Borgia may be a blight upon the Templar Order, but they provide a great lesson: do not get too big for your breeches," Weatherall eyed her, "like you have been doing."

Élise frowned, shaking her head. "I was wrong, I thought you of all people would agree with me," Élise said, "I guess I'll find my own way to Cairo. You won't stop me in this, Mr. Weatherall. So, please, don't." Élise said, and headed off down the street, "goodbye, thank you for everything." She called over her shoulder. She managed only to walk a few feet before a firm hand grabbed her bicep. She squeaked, upon seeing Weatherall, on one crutch, holding onto her for support and to keep her from living.

"God damn you, Élise," he growled, anger in his tone, "I'll stop you, so help me… I'll stop you!"

"Mr. Weatherall, unhand me!" Élise yelped indignant. She tried tugging her arm free but she saw her beloved mentor sway and settled down. She pursed her lips, realizing that he had dropped his other crutch precisely to hobble her.

"No," Weatherall said, "you're acting like a child that didn't get her way. Now, pick up my other crutch and we are going to have a nice long chat about this idiotic notion of you going to Cairo."

"Mr. Weatherall—"

"Now, Élise!" he snapped. Élise frowned, picked up his crutch and together they headed towards the nearest café.

The café was small and filled with people, murmuring softly over their coffee. "Élise!" Helene cried, standing up. "Oh, Mr. Weatherall, what have you done?" the young woman asked, wedging herself between them and fussing over the older man. She turned her attention to Élise once she got Weatherall seated. Helene hugged Élise and kissed her twice on both cheeks. "It's so good to see you, Élise!"

Élise smiled, glad to be reunited with her friend. "It's good to see you too, Helene," Élise said, sitting down opposite her teacher. Helene took a seat next to Weatherall. Élise looked at her mentor. "I'm still going."

"Like hell you are," Weatherall groused.

"Who are you to tell me I can't go? I'm the Grand Master now!" Élise said. Weatherall smacked the table.

"I'll tell you, who I am: I'm Frederick Weatherall, your mentor, protector, _and_ only Templar ally," he said. "And it's precisely because you are Grand Master that you shouldn't go."

"But the Apple—"

"Hang the bloody thing, Élise! Germain is dead. The Order is in complete disarray; it _needs_ strong leadership! It needs _you_ to be the leader it craves. If you don't take the bull by the horns it's going to skewer you and someone else will take charge," Weatherall said, and pulled from his coat pocket a letter. There was no address, simply her name, and the wax seal bore the insignia of the Assassins. "This came to the drop a few days ago. Germain's been dead for what?"

"About two weeks," Élise said, "I've been back from Franciade for about a week." She watched as Weatherall slid the letter over to her. She looked at it but didn't make a move to take it. She slid it back over to Weatherall. "I'm not interested in anything the Assassins have to say."

"Élise," Weatherall said, taking the letter and returning it to his coat pocket. "They probably want to discuss a peace."

"Well, I'm not interested. All I care about is getting to Cairo so I can retrieve the Apple."

"Helene," Weatherall said, "order some whiskey, this moment needs to be marked with a celebration. Élise de la Serre finally changed her mind."

"Your sarcasm is duly noted Mr. Weatherall," Élise said, rolling her eyes, "of all people I thought you would at least agree with me."

"I don't agree with you, Élise. This is a foolish irresponsible action. Your father once fancied to acquire an Apple, but then he met Reginald Birch. The man was mad for the Pieces of Eden and their makers," Weatherall said, "scared your mother. Your father never wanted anything to do with the Pieces of Eden ever again."

"Then he was a narrow-minded coward with no vision," Élise spat. Weatherall's jaw dropped as he stared at her.

"Do you even hear yourself, girl?" Weatherall asked, baffled. "Your father was a good man, a good Grand Master. Yes, he had his faults, but he was leaps and bounds better than Reginald Birch. This is exactly why Arno refused to give you the Apple! You don't listen to anyone unless they agree with you!"

"I do too!" Élise protested. "I listen. I may not act upon the advice given but I listen."

"You never listen," Weatherall said, pointing a finger at her. "Never."

"How dare you."

"The only reason Arno has ever agreed with you is because your probably twisted his arm so much until he had no choice but to agree with you."

"Are you accusing me of manipulating him? Of using his feelings for me against him, to get what I want?" Élise hissed, furious that her teacher would accuse her of something so underhanded. "I loved him, in case you've forgotten!"

"No Élise," Weatherall said, "I'm not accusing you of being that cruel, especially not to him. What I am saying, you have successfully convinced him at times to go along with your half-baked gambits. Partly because he loves you, and partly because you just go off on do it and he has no choice but to tag along to make sure you don't get hurt."

"I do not need him to protect me! I don't need you to protect me, either!" she snapped. "Why can't anyone see that I can protect myself?"

"Élise," Weatherall mumbled.

"Mademoiselle Élise," Helene said, "when we got your letter telling us of Germain's death, Mr. Weatherall… well, he cried. He was so happy and relieved that you had listened, that you had overcome your desire for revenge. All he's saying is that sometimes you can't do everything on your own. Mr. Weatherall doesn't intend to lock you in a tower, and I'm sure Arno doesn't either, but… they want to make sure you don't get hurt by your actions."

Élise sighed, thinking about all the times she had rushed in head long and would've ended up dead or injured if it wasn't for Arno or Weatherall at her side. She only had to look at Weatherall's empty pant leg to see the truth. "I'm sorry," she whispered, deflating as her anger cooled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weatherall," she grabbed her teacher's hand, feeling the callouses from years of fencing. "But I cannot let this chance slip by, you must understand that. With the Apple I can honor my parents' legacy."

"I see," Weatherall said, and reached into his pocket once more. He handed her the letter the Assassins sent. "Then at least read it before you go to Cairo. I've heard the new Mentor is Sophie Trenet. She's a hard woman, but reasonable. I'm sure you've met her before."

"I have," Élise said, taking the letter.

"And I want you to think about one other thing before you book passage with whatever ship's captain is mad enough to take you to Cairo: What will it take for you to see the error of your ways, Élise? When Paris is in ruin? When France lies in ashes? When your actions kill you and you take your final breath? Or when Arno's broken and lifeless body is dumped at your feet?"

Élise swallowed, not wanting to imagine Arno dead and broken. She tried to forget his earnest pleas for her to see reason, the desperate look in his eyes as he held his sword to her breast. She knew he would rather see her dead than mad with power, and the realization broken his heart. "I will," she said, getting up. "Goodbye Mr. Weatherall," she added, "Helene." She walked off, tucking the letter into her belt.

* * *

Élise spent the rest of the day trying to find a merchant willing to take her to Cairo, but by the time evening fell she had found nobody. She sighed and headed back to her father's old estate that he had kept in Paris. It had miraculously survived the Revolution and Germain's coup. Even though it was empty of servants, Élise still had found a sense of peace within its walls. She glanced up at the portraits of her parents. "I'm trying Father," Élise said, looking at her father's portrait. "I'm trying to be a good Grand Master but… it… it's difficult. I wish you were here Father, to guide me. I'm so unsure of myself," she looked away, "I found an Apple, but Arno refused to see reason! He said I had gone mad for power. It's a lie, Father. Arno knows me, he knows I would never enslave the world, that I only sought to use the Apple to bring peace to France!" Élise said, then frowned at her father's portrait. "Don't look at me like that Father. Even Mr. Weatherall disagreed!" Élise closed her eyes and sighed, before looking at the portraits again.

The portraits remained stubbornly silent and Élise knew she would get no answers from her parents. They were dead and gone after all. _What will it take for you to see the error of your ways, Élise? When Paris is in ruin? When France lies in ashes? When your actions kill you and you take your final breath? Or when Arno's broken and lifeless body is dumped at your feet?_ Mr. Weatherall's words rang like bells in Élise's head and she struggled to push them away.

Élise gave a little scream of frustration, shook her head and went to the stairs. She climbed them, and going to her old room. It was how she left it before she met up with Arno to hunt Germain. She entered her room and closed the door, leaning against it. "Arno and Mr. Weatherall are wrong," Élise whispered to the shadows as she rested her head against it. She wasn't mad, and she would stop before she killed herself, Arno died or the blood on her hands became too thick for her to wash away. All she needed was the Apple, but first she must reach Cairo. "There has to be someone," Élise muttered, going over to her desk and shuffling through the papers looking to see if she had a ledger book of names.

She moved about stacks of yellowing paper, the ink fading upon their surfaces. Letters from her father, friends she met during her travels and studies, love notes from Arno before their idyllic world came crashing down around them. She moved another stack and a letter fluttered to her feet, making a soft papery crunch upon landing. Élise frowned at the paper, stooped and scooped it up. The sunlight had faded and Élise lit a stubby little candle on her desk. She pulled out a chair and sat down. The letter was from Arno. Élise couldn't help but smile as she began to read it.

_My dearest Élise,_

_Me? A goat herder! Never. I laugh at the very thought as I write this. Though I don't know what life will be like after Germain is dead, all I know is that I'm content to be with you forever. Maybe I'll become Mentor and you'll be Grand Master and we can forge the truce between Templar and Assassin, you speak so passionately about. Or we can leave this life completely behind us and head to the New World, to Canada or the United States._

_Though, if you truly wish it, I suppose we can settle in the Pyrenees and raise a herd of goats and a few children. I can see you now, dressed as a countrywoman, feeding chickens with a grubby child clinging to your skirts. I'm not sure such a simple life suits either of us, we seem to attract trouble or it finds us._

_Rest assured my dearest Élise, we will find Germain and he'll be brought to justice for his crimes. No matter how long it takes, I will not rest until he's dead at our feet, this I swear to you. Alas, the hour grows late and Noémie has been nagging me about not sleeping enough, so until our next meeting._

_Tout mon amour,_

_Arno_

Élise sighed, putting the letter down. She shifted the papers around and found several other letters from Arno. Even after her father's death and he had first joined the Assassins, Arno always signed his letters _tout mon amour_. "All my love," Élise whispered, holding the small stack of letters, their dates going further and further back in time.

Time stood still as the shadow of François de la Serre darkened the sliver of light beneath the doorway. "Élise? Élise, sweetheart are you okay? I heard noises?" François asked, knocking on the door. Élise shoved Arno off of her, hissing at him to hide. She pulled a robe on and tried to smooth her tangle of red curls. There was enough moonlight in her room that she hazarded a glance at the mirror. She looked disheveled, hopefully her father wouldn't be able to tell what she and Arno had just got done doing. As an afterthought she used the inside of her robe to wipe away Arno's seed that was oozing down her leg. She opened the door.

"Father?" Élise asked, a note of surprise in her voice at the sight of her father in his frilly night gown and night cap on his head, candle stick in one hand and his other about to knock on the door. "What brings you by at this hour?" Élise dare not open the door any wider in case he spotted Arno's shadowy shape beneath the bed.

"I heard noises coming from your room," François said, "I hope everything is alright."

"Oh yes," Élise said a bit breathless. "Everything is fine. I had a nightmare."

"A nightmare? Do you want me to come—"

"No!" Élise said too quickly, barring her father from opening her door further. "No, Father, I'm nineteen. I return to Paris in two days," Élise smiled, "I'm hardly a little girl anymore that gets frightened at her own shadow." Élise said with a laugh.

François smiled, his worried expression softening. "Of course you're not little anymore, Élise," he agreed, "but you'll always be my little girl."

"Papa," Élise said, a smile on her lips. François smiled. "Well, good night then."

"Good night Élise, and sweet dreams," François said. Élise shut the door and waited until she heard her father's footsteps fade down the hall before shrugging off her robe and climbing back into bed.

"Arno," she hissed, leaning over the side, "Arno, you can come out now!"

"Finally," Arno said wriggling out from under the bed. Élise giggled as his lithe broad-shouldered frame appeared, skin silver-white in the moonlight. Élise blushed at the sight of Arno's naked buttocks, small pink crescent shapes etched into his firm flesh from where her nails dug into his skin. A vivid reminder of what they had just finished doing before her father came. The bed sagged as Arno slipped in, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her close. He nuzzled her ear, hot breath tickling her skin. "That was close," Arno said.

"Well, he wouldn't've come if you hadn't been so loud," Élise said, snuggling against him.

"I was loud?" Arno gasped. "Oh no, no, no, no! Who was it that was screaming for me to go—" Élise silenced him with a kiss.

"You were too loud, Arno," she said, a seriously look in her eyes. Arno snorted, pressing his forehead against hers.

"You weren't exactly the silent blushing maiden, Élise," Arno countered. She gave him a wicked good grin before smacking his bare chest. Arno sighed as he rested his head on the pillows. Élise placed her head on his chest.

"Okay," she said, "lets agree that we were both loud, _but_ you were louder."

Arno laughed. "Alright, I'll agree to that," he said.

"Good," Élise said, and smacked him again in the chest. "Don't be so loud next time!"

"Oh, so I did well enough for you to consider a next time?" Arno asked, eyeing her in the moonlit darkness. Élise grinned.

"Well, you weren't dreadfully terrible," Élise quipped.

"How many men have you bedded Élise de la Serre?" Arno asked, quirking a brow.

"One," Élise said, "and he's right beside me, and he's asking me silly questions when we should be sleeping."

Arno flushed. "So, how could you compare?"

"I read," Élise said, primly.

"Those trashy romance novels are _hardly_ the truth," Arno said. Élise gave him a beady glare.

"Alright, how many women have you had?" Élise asked, her voice icy, "Or should I call them whores?" At that Arno got quiet, a blush tinting his cheeks as he looked away. "How many, Arno?"

"Just… Just one," Arno muttered, he looked away, "just you."

Élise's eyes grew wide and her own cheeks colored. "Arno," she said. She couldn't fathom him only having bedded her, he was a great lover and great lovers always took multiple people to bed.

"I mean… we... we were just, what… I was fifteen when we first…" he blushed, "when you… uuh… we… uuh… consummated our relationship. I didn't know what I was doing so… I… I well," he blushed again, unable to look at her, "I asked, some… some of the uuh… brothel workers, about things and…" he fell silent when Élise pressed a finger to his lips. "Élise?"

"Arno," Élise smiled, "that's sweet. You could've just bought a book though. I hear there are books on bedroom matters. You didn't have to ask a whore." she said.

"I love you," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. Élise blinked in surprise, before she kissed Arno again. She squeaked against his lips when his hands squeezed her buttocks. She pulled away giggling, nuzzling his collarbone.

"I love you too, Arno," she said. She should tell him, all of it, get it over with right now while the night held sway over the world. The shadows kept secrets and revealed secrets. If she told him, maybe… just maybe he'll join the Templars and they wouldn't have to steal kisses in the shadows anymore. Her father would be pleased regardless. "Arno, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" Arno looked at her with a sleepy expression, hiding his nose in her hair.

"If… If we were on two sides of a war… would you still love me?" she asked, she stared up at the shadowy ceiling, trying to find the strength to just come out and tell him about everything, why she was always gone so much, the truth about her father, his father… all of it. No more secrets.

"Yes," Arno mumbled, his breathing was starting to even out. She jabbed him in the ribs. "Élise…"

"Even… even if one day you'd have to kill me because we were enemies? Or I drove you away and told you I hated you?" Élise closed her eyes. "Even if I became the most wretched creature on earth? Would you still love me?" She need to know, needed to hear him say that he'll always love her, no matter what wending path their lives took, even if he never learned of his Assassin heritage, along as he would continue to remain _her_ Arno, she could weather any storm.

"Élise," Arno said, pushing himself up to look at her better, "you can be Lilith herself and I'd still love you. As long as live, I will love you. All the way to the bitter end, I will love you. Even when there is no more life left in my body, I will love you. I will _always_ love you, Élise. Now and forever." He kissed her, his arms slipping around her chest and pulling her close.

Élise closed her eyes, sinking into Arno's embrace, kissing him just as passionately in return. Not for the last time that night, did Élise wish she could stop time.

Time had gotten the better of her, for the stubby candle went out with a soft huff. Élise touched her cheeks, realizing they were wet with her tears. She had been thinking about Arno, his admission that he'll love her always no matter what happened.

. Élise sighed, got up and looked for another candle, lit it and sat there staring at the flame. It wasn't terribly late, but she felt tired, had been feeling tired more so than usual the last few days, also hungry more often. Élise shook her head, clasping and unclasping her hands. Despite her fatigue she felt a swell of restless energy, she wanted to _do_ something. She could almost hear Arno chiding her about her impatient recklessness. She gave a small chuckle at that, the pain of missing him swelling in her chest.

She would have gone after Germain by herself in the Temple, if Arno hadn't convinced her to stay. She had drawn her pistol and shot the traitor in the knee to keep him from fleeing. She would have gone after Robespierre but she couldn't sacrifice Arno. Both times, she had chosen her love for Arno over the Templar Order. And frankly, what good had the order ever brought her so far since her initiation? Her father dead, everyone turned against her, Germain usurping her rightful position. The Templar Order had brought her nothing but heartache and sorrow.

"The Apple changes everything," Élise muttered. She had seen it, touched it, and knew that with it she could fix all that was broken, all that would be broken in the future.

_When will enough be enough. How much do you have to lose before you see the carnage wrought in your quest for peace?_

Élise's brow twitched, she screamed in outraged frustration and pushed everything off the desk before slamming her fists down upon its beaten surface. She was tired of such questions, tired of second guessing herself. Ever since her father died she had been looking over her shoulder, expecting a dagger in her back. The only allies she had been Arno and Mr. Weatherall and she had stubbornly pushed them away.

Élise ground her teeth in frustration, dropping her hands. She felt the letter Weatherall had given her. Pursing her lips, she pulled it free from her belt and set it on the desk. She pulled the candle closer. The envelop was unassuming, only her name and the wax seal adorn it. She grabbed the letter and snapped the wax seal in half. Inside was a letter.

 _Grand Master de la Serre_ —

_I write to you concerning the negotiation of peace that you and Assassin Arno Dorian proposed to the Council on July 29, 1794. After much deliberation, and against the wishes of my fellow councilmembers, I have come to the conclusion that peace is a valid option for our two orders._

_France, especially Paris, lies in ruins from the Revolution. While the Reign of Terror has ended, I still fear that the people have yet to sate their desire for revolution. That being said, it would be wise and behooving both Templar and Assassin, to work together to guide our beloved nation towards recovery._

_I have spoken to Arno about this again, upon his return from Franciade. He has informed me of the events that have transpired. While I believe his impulsive change of heart concerning the matter is rooted in the now soured relations between you and him, I am determined to go ahead and negotiate with you. I have no idea if a peace between Templar and Assassin will prove harmful or beneficial in the end, but we Assassins have always been ones for taking leaps of faith._

_I look forward to speaking with you and forging a bridge between our two orders._

_Safety and peace,_

_Sophie Trenet, Mentor of the French Brotherhood_

_PS: Since you are not present, and I know he would have shared the news with you, I'll inform you that I've reinstated Arno into the Brotherhood._

Élise couldn't help but feel pleased that he had regained his spot in the Brotherhood, though by the wording of the post script it didn't sound like he regained his previous held rank. "I hope you're happy, Arno." She knew he wasn't. She knew he was probably drinking and miserable because they parted on bad terms. If she allowed herself to be honest, she was miserable without him too.

She missed him: his touch, his smiles, the scent of him, his witty jokes and clever quips. The way he'd brighten upon seeing her as if she pushed the clouds away from the sun. The way he spoke so hopefully of the future, _their_ future together. She missed him. She missed Arno.

A noise made her jump, she turned to stare at the door. "Hello? Élise? Élise are you there?" a voice called. Élise's heart skipped a bit. Had Mr. Weatherall come looking for her or was it someone else? Did the Carrolls send another assassin after her? Élise folded the letter and tucked it down her shirt. She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword and slowly made her way out of her room.

She reached the banister that over looked the parlor, and spotted Mr. Weatherall with Helene. She relaxed, letting go of her sword. "Up here, Mr. Weatherall!" Élise caused, catching their attention. Weatherall jumped, and Helene caught him by the elbow. Élise chuckled, before heading down the stairs and greeting her guests. "Sorry about the decor," she said, waving a hand at the run down state of interior, "haven't had much time to make repairs."

Weatherall chuckled. "I'm hoping you got your head on right this time Élise," he said. Élise looked away, but a smile graced her lips.

"I have done a lot of thinking," she said, and stifled a yawn. She blinked a few times. "And I've reached a decision."

"Excellent," Weatherall said.

"I'm not going to Cairo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> The Lioness (c) Xandria
> 
> Well, for some reason my muse has been very helpful lately. Guess the muse strike and Muse HQ is over or my muse got back from vacation. Whatever the reason, I'm on a fucking roll here!
> 
> The flashback was fun. :3 You can't convince me that these two didn't screw around with each other. I mean, every teenager does (well, a vast majority of teenagers do).
> 
> This chapter is Élise centric, and next chapter will be Arno centric.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
>  
> 
> PS: The Cormac that Élise ran into in Franciade IS NOT Shay. Just making sure everyone is clear on that. He clearly referred to his FATHER as being referred to as the Wolf of the Artic. Just making sure we're all on the same page.


	12. Broken

_'Cause I'm broken when I'm open_ _,_ _and I don't feel like I am strong enough_ _._ _'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome_ _,_ _and I don't feel right when you're gone away! — Seether featuring Amy Lee_

* * *

_Cling!_

_Clang!_

_Whoosh!_

Arno ducked the heavy axe as it went passing over his head. His heart hammered in his chest, eyes trained on his taller, stronger opponent. "Aw, are ya afraid to strike me Arnie?" Jean-Jacques taunted as he hefted his axe for another swing. Arno felt his brow twitched.

"You know I hate it when you call me that," Arno hissed, rolling out of the axe's strike. He sprung to his feet thrusting with his sword, but Jean-Jacques blocked it, with a deft downward backhand, the blade of the axe caught Arno's sword and yanked the blade free of his grip.

"Now whatcha gonna do, Arnie?" Jean-Jacques sneered. Arno stared at his opponent before rushing to the side of the room where the spears and pole arms were kept. He grabbed one, twirling it with a flourish. He planted the butt of the spear on the ground and kicked out with both feet. He missed but the desire effect of getting Jean-Jacques off balance was successful. Arno swung his spear, Jean-Jacques narrowly avoiding getting his gut cut open. Arno gasped for breath, going on the offensive now that he had the reach of the spear.

"I really hate spears," Jean-Jacques grumbled, as he raised his axe overhead and brought it down. Arno brought his spear to guard but Jean-Jacques' axe cut the shaft clean through. He smirked, and jabbed the butt of his axe into Arno's injured shoulder. Arno cried out, dropping the broken spear.

"That was a cheap shot," Arno growled, rubbing his shoulder. Jean-Jacques merely grinned. "Alright then, bare knuckles."

"Ha! Thought you'd never ask," Jean-Jacques dropped his axe and kicked it to the side as he cracked his knuckles, "though ya sure ya can take it, Arnie? Ya nobles always frown upon the finesse of fist-fighting."

Arno rolled his eyes. "Just because I grew up in the de la Serre household doesn't mean I didn't have my share of fist-fights Jean-Jacques," Arno swung, "I've fought plenty of brutes like you!" he said, and missed. Jean-Jacques delivered a quick jab to Arno's side, causing the other man to grunt and stagger back.

"Might need to reeducate you then," Jean-Jacques said, bringing his arms up to guard as Arno struck him. Arno feinted a strike at Jean-Jacques' head before dropping his strike to the man's unprotected belly. He heard the larger man gasp, the wind busting out of his lungs. Arno brought his knee up, heard the satisfying crunch of Jean-Jacques' nose.

"What was that about reeducation?" Arno asked, panting. He flexed his injured shoulder. It hurt, but he could carry on with this sparing match a bit longer. Jean-Jacques sniffed, a bloody grin on his face as he wiped away the blood oozing from his nose.

"Not bad for a pisspot," Jean-Jacques said. Arno rolled his eyes and failed to avoid his friend's crushing bear hug. Jean-Jacques laughed, a deep booming sound. Arno growled, struggling against the big man's crushing grip. Frustrated, Arno smashed his forehead against Jean-Jacques with enough force that they both saw stars. Jean-Jacques' grip slackened enough that Arno was able to wiggle one arm free and jab his elbow into Jean-Jacques's collarbone. The big man dropped Arno.

Arno boxed Jean-Jacques' ears and while he was reeling from that, Arno kicked him in the gut. He made a double fist and slammed it down on Jean-Jacques' back, sending him to the ground. He stood, panting over Jean-Jacques' prone form. Arno wiped sweat from his brow.

"Looks like I wiiii—" Arno yelped as Jean-Jacques grabbed him by the foot and flipped him on his back as he stood. Arno grunted as he thudded painfully against the ground.

"Game, set, match," Jean-Jacques said, pressing his foot on Arno's chest. He bent his knee and leaned over it, Arno could see the image of the Madonna inked into Jean-Jacques' forearm. "Not a bad showing Arnie."

"Jean-Jacques get off me," Arno growled, trying to get Jean-Jacques' foot off his chest.

"Fine, fine," the big man said, "no need to get huffy just cause ya lost." Jean-Jacques removed his foot and helped Arno up. He patted Arno on the back, making sure he could breathe.

"That was a cheap trick, Jean-Jacques." He walked over to wear his shirt was. He wiped his face on his shirt before tugging it over his head. It had been a week since he returned from Franciade, a week since Élise left him because he refused to give her the Apple.

A week since everything fell apart.

"Still a cheap trick," Arno grumbled, as he retrieved his sword. Jean-Jacques laughed, slapping Arno on the back with a meaty hand.

"Pay attention more," he said. "Then it won't be such a cheap trick."

Arno snorted, shaking his head dismissively. "If you say so, Jean-Jacques," Arno said, heading towards the door. "Though I must thank you for an excellent bout."

"It was my pleasure _mon amie_ , hopefully we can spar again another time," Jean-Jacques chimed. Arno gave a nod before leaving the training room, and once he was around the corner rubbed at his neck.

"Unlikely, Jean-Jacques, I know I'm fit, but you still give me a beating," Arno grumbled.

"Monsieur Arno!" a voice shrilled. Arno stopped and sighed, muttering beneath his breath as he pinched his nose. Today just seemed to be one of those days.

"Yes, Noémie?" he asked as a short, plump woman, with plain mousy brown hair streaked judiciously with silver that she kept up in a sloppy bun beneath a bonnet that was once white but now grey. Her sharp grey eyes missed nothing, and everyone respected her, from Charlotte Gouze to Augustin Grisier. Even Sophie Trenet respected and feared little Noémie LaHache.

Jean-Jacques once told Arno, Noémie shouted down and _humiliated_ Pierre Bellec in front of the entire café. It was the unspoken hierarchy of the café: Arno owned it, Gouze managed it, Godefroy kept the books and Noémie made sure the entire thing ran like clockwork.

"Have you been raiding the wine cellar? We are mysteriously missing a few bottles of Bordeaux," Noémie asked, eyeing Arno. Arno stared at the small head maid, trying not to look guilty. "Don't bother lying," Noémie said, "I know you have." She sighed, glancing at her feet then back at him. "Look, I realize you're having a rough patch with Mademoiselle de la Serre—"

Arno flinched, clenching his hands and looking away, a frown on his lips. "Please don't mention her in front of me, Noémie," Arno mumbled.

"Well, if you insist, sir, but you need to buck up. Bellec may have been an old crusty bastard, but he knew a thing or two, Arno, he wouldn't want to see his star pupil a mess like this," Noémie said. "And neither would Mentor Mirabeau."

"Bellec," Arno spat, "didn't give two shits about what I wanted." Though Arno had to admit Noémie was right; Bellec did know a thing or two. He had been right that Élise would eventually succumb to her Templar nature. She wanted to use the Apple to enslave all of humanity, to place the world beneath her yoke. She left him when he refused to give her the Apple; when he chose the Assassins over her. He took a deep breath. "Is there something you want, Noémie?" Arno asked.

"Yes, Jean-Jacques told me he got you good in your shoulder and the Council wants to speak with you."

"Lovely," Arno grumbled, "I suppose you want to look at my shoulder?"

"That I do," she said, and waved at him to lead her to his room. He did, silently fuming though his thoughts strayed to Élise. She had yet to seek him out for the week he had been back in Paris, and even though he kept glancing over his shoulder and at every woman with flame-colored hair, he wasn't really looking for her. He wouldn't back down about the Apple's fate and he knew she wouldn't either. It hurt that their ideologies had finally come between them.

 _I thought we were better than this… stronger than this._ He thought sitting down in a chair, and pulled his shirt off to allow Noémie to look at his shoulder. "Did the Council say what they wanted me for?" Arno asked.

"You know them," Noémie said, poking at it, causing Arno to wince.

"I take that as a no," Arno grumbled.

"Stitches can come out in a few days I'll say," she leaned in close and sniffed, "no infection, which is good. How did this happen again?"

"A guard in Franciade shot me," Arno said, wincing again as Noémie poked it a few more times. Élise had agreed to be his wife that day, the smile she gave him when she said yes rivaled the sun for brilliance. Arno felt like his heart would burst from joy when she agreed, now the dream had turned to ash.

His sadness must've shown on his face for Noémie said, "Iris is a nice girl. She's sweet on ya, Arno."

"I'm not interested," Arno mumbled, as Noémie put the last bit of the ointment on his wound and wrapped the bandage around it.

"Well," Noémie said, once she was done. "Somethings are just not meant to be. Templar and Assassin," she gave Arno a sad smile, "may just be one of those things."

"Altaïr and Maria made it work," Arno pointed out.

"Maria ended up joining the Assassins," Noémie countered. "Don't keep the council waiting, Arno."

"I won't," Arno said, watching Noémie leave. He stood up, splashed some water on his face, shuddering at its icy temperature, before undoing his hair and running a comb through it. Not that it helped much, but it looked less harried than before. He pulled his hair back, tying it at his nape, and as usual his bangs on his right side, refused to stay in place as they fell into his eye. Annoyed, he tucked him behind his ear, even though they stubbornly refuse to stay. He dawned his Assassin robes before heading down to the Sanctuary.

* * *

When he reached the council chamber, Trenet, Beylier and Quemar were waiting for him. There was a young man on all fours, gasping for breath, a puddle of vomit between his hands and a dead body beside him. "An initiation ceremony? Without me? I'm hurt," Arno quipped.

"You're later Arno," Trenet said through clench teeth.

"I was sparring with Jean-Jacques, and nobody told me this was going to happen today," Arno said.

"We told you three days ago," Quemar sighed, "though you weren't missed much during the initiation ceremony."

Arno huffed and leaned up against the wall waiting for the new initiate to get his feet under him. The young man slowly stood up, knees shaky and he looked around, drool dribbling down his chin.

"Corin Babineaux is dead," Trenet declared, "you are now reborn as an Assassin. Live by the Creed and uphold our tenets."

Corin nodded and glance at Arno. Arno sighed and glanced up at Trenet. "You still haven't explained to me why I was summoned."

"In a minute, Arno," Trenet said, and then she looked to another assassin, garbed in a forest green robe, "Émile, you are in charge of training the new recruits, Corin here is your first ward. Don't fail."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Corin said, holding out his hand. Arno saw Émile roll his eyes, for Corin had yet to see him.

"Arno Dorian," Arno replied curtly, not even bothering to shake Corin's hand. The young man withdrew it, embarrassed. "And I'm not your master, he is, the one behind you," Arno said, pointing to Émile, who had walked up behind Corin.

"Boo," Émile said. Corin jumped a bit, a bit frightened. "Émile Vipond."

"Corin Babineaux," Corin said, shaking Émile's hand.

"You have a year to train him before you're required to present him before the council," Trenet said, looking down at Corin and Émile. "You two are dismissed."

Both bowed and Émile lead Corin away, talking to him softly. Arno watched them go, remembering his initiation ceremony, Bellec leading him away as he wondered if he made the right choice, if the Assassins would help him find the men responsible for killing Monsieur de la Serre.

"Well? Why have I been summoned?" Arno asked.

"It's been a week since your return from Franciade, and there has been no word from Grand Master de la Serre concerning the truce," Trenet said, "it almost seems like she's no longer interested in it. So, Arno, have you spoken with her?" Trenet asked.

Arno snorted, looking away for a moment then back up at Trenet. "No," Arno said, "I haven't. Like I said last time when we spoke privately, we had a disagreement over the Apple's fate and we went our separate ways. I'm not her keeper, and if Élise de la Serre doesn't want to be found she won't be."

The Mentor and her Masters mumbled amongst themselves before Trenet faced Arno again. "This is a matter of the upmost importance Arno. We have held off assigning contracts on Templars and Élise de la Serre out of respect for you _and_ her request for peace between Templar and Assassin, but if she won't respond and agree to the truce _she_ proposed then we will not uphold our end and the truce will crumble before it started." Trenet said.

"What do you me to do about it?" Arno asked.

"Find her," Beylier said, "and bring her before us so we can discuss it."

"Find her?" Arno asked, his breath hitching. He wanted to find her, tear apart Paris in his search for her, but last time they saw each other he held a sword to her chest to prevent her from getting the Apple and slipping into madness. "You want me to find Élise de la Serre?"

"Well, isn't she your fiancée?" Trenet asked. Arno remained silent, his heart aching as Trenet referred to Élise as his fiancée. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking about the future that now lay in dismal tatters at his feet. "The point is Arno," Trenet continued, pulling Arno away from his thoughts, "we don't care if you two had a lovers' spat," Trenet said, "she wanted the truce, I have sent her a letter requesting negotiations, yet all we've heard from her is silence! We grow impatient with it, and with us well aware of her actions in Franciade concerning the Apple we grow extremely leery of her. Bring her to us Arno, or we revoke the truce. You have two weeks."

Arno's eyes grew wide, "Two weeks? You're only giving me two weeks!" Arno protested. He had no idea if he'd be able to find Élise in two weeks. He had no idea if she was even in Paris or if she would even want to come with him to talk about a truce. A sour bitterness coiled in his gut as Trenet threatened to dissolve the truce before it even began. She had read him correctly that night, his change of heart had been impulsive and driven by his failed romance. He truly did believe in a truce. He ground his teeth in anger, clenching his fists, yet in the end he acquiesced, "Yes, Mentor," with a bow.

 

Trenet smiled, "Good. You're dismissed," she said and waved Arno away with a hand. Arno stared at them for a brief moment before he left.

* * *

Arno sat at the dining table, staring at his pocket watch, an open bottle of wine at his elbow and a half drunk glass by his hand. The watch ticked the time away merrily, as if daring to defy Arno's melancholy. He had a silent dinner. His mind was too filled with thoughts for him to sleep.

Memories floated in, lazy and unbidden. Élise and her smile, their ideological clash beneath Franciade. Trenet telling him, he's banished from the Brotherhood for disobeying orders. Élise bitter and angry with him for missing their shot at Germain, _if you don't have the stomach for revenge then I don't need your help!_ Bellec dead at his feet, neck oozing blood as he gave a last shuddering sigh. François de la Serre stumbling about, hand pressed to his neck, blood gushing between his fingers. The butt of the guard's rifle colliding with his face, the wet crunch as his nose broke, two months in the Bastille, for a crime that eluded his understanding.

He snapped his watch closed, drained the rest of his glass of wine and filled it up again almost to the brim. He drank half of it two long swallows, the burn of the alcohol down his throat did little to take away his pain. He sniffed, rubbed at his nose and popped open his watch again. He remembered his father telling him they'd see the fireworks when the little hand went to the top. Instead his father lay dead, the watch tumbling from his hands, only to snap open as it hit the ground. He didn't get to see the fireworks that day.

Arno took another gulp of his wine, and gave a gravelly sigh. _Bring her_ _to us, Arno or we revoke the truce. You have two weeks_ _._ Those words rang like a dirge in his head. Élise had once asked him if he would still love her even if he had to kill her. He had told her yes.

That was seven years ago, when life and times were simpler, before he knew he was an Assassin and she a Templar, when such things were scoffed at as fairytales. When all that mattered was her smile. Arno sniffed, wiping away the tears with his thumb. She had blamed him; told him it was his fault her father was dead. She held the letter in her hands as she told him to go, unable to meet his gaze. He pleaded with her, begged her to listen but she refused and turned him away.

"That your first bottle or second?" Valérie asked, coming into the dining room. Arno looked up at her. Jean-Jacques' sister placed one hip onto the table, flour in her brown hair and on her hands.

"Here to rub in the fact your brother thoroughly trounced my ass this afternoon?" Arno grumbled, he picked up his glass and finished it off before pouring himself another. Valérie snatched the bottle out of his hand before he got it to the top and took a swing.

"Ugh," she made a face, "Monsieur Dorian! What pig-swill are you drinking!" she asked, glancing at him. "I thought you like Bordeaux?"

"I do," Arno said. "Your mother refused to tell me where she hid it," he grumbled. "Since I've been drinking about two bottles a night to help me sleep." He took a gulp from his glass. "Do you mind Valérie? I'm trying to get drunk here."

Valérie snorted and took another swig from the bottle. "You had enough, and you're lucky it's me that caught ya and not my mother." She flashed him a grin and slipped off the table. "C'mon," she said, patting Arno's shoulder, "I need your help in the kitchen."

"No you don't," Arno said, grabbing the bottle again and filling up his half-empty glass. "You can go get Iris or Andrée if you need help."

"Oh, but Monsieur Dorian, I want yours," Valérie purred, grabbed his glass of wine as he lifted it to his lips, sloshing some of it onto his shirt, before gulping down the entire thing like a sailor. "Ah! Okay," Valérie said.

"You ruined my shirt," Arno said, plucking at the white shirt he wore.

"Pity, it looked terrible before, I merely improved it." She flashed him a grin. "Come on," she said and nudged Arno again. "To the kitchen!"

"And if I refuse?" Arno asked, though he pushed his chair back and slipped his watch into his pocket.

"My father and brother are both Assassins, and they are both stubborn. I know how to deal with stubborn men," Valérie said. Arno chuckled as he stood up and followed Valérie to the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and she gave him a large mound of dough, sprinkled a good helping of flour on it and told him to knead it.

Arno sighed, but fell into a task with a weary determination. He forgot how long he stood there in the kitchen, singing along with Valérie as they needed the bread dough for the morning. The simplicity of the task was an odd balm for his shattered soul, his mind blanking out. Squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over, squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over, toss some more flour because it's too sticky; squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over.

"They told me to find Élise," Arno said after a few minutes when Valérie ran out of songs to sing. "The Council."

"And?" Valérie asked, grunting with the effort of kneading the dough. He shoved his off to the side, and scooped up the last lump of dough. "I know that's not all what they told you to do?"

"They want me to bring her before them or…" Arno stopped, staring at the pale lumpy dough on the table. If he stared long enough he could see Élise's face in it. He shook his head. "If she refuses they'll revoke the truce."

Valérie spared him a look but didn't react beyond that. "Well, you always knew that maybe one day the truce would shatter, right?"

"I know, but… we worked so hard for this," Arno said, needing the dough as his frustration and anger swelled up inside him. It was easier to take it out on the lumpy dough. "I thought we could do it! Be different than those that tried and failed!"

"Well then your path is simple," Valérie said, wiping her brow with a forearm. "Find her and bring her before the Council." Arno punched the dough. "Knead it, Arno! I said _knead it_ , not punch it," Valérie tsked.

"Sorry," Arno looked away, and sighed. "I'm sorry. We found… an artifact beneath Franciade, and well… she wanted to keep it and I felt it was too dangerous to do so. We got into a fight… I haven't seen her since."

"Mama and Papa would get into fights," Valérie said, she nudged him and pointed to the dough. Arno began to need it again. "Sometimes they got really bad, and you know what they did?"

"No," Arno said, eyes downcast.

"They would go and read the letters they sent to each other when Papa was away on missions," Valérie said. "Mama said that it reminded her of all the good times they had, of the love they shared for each other. They wouldn't speak or see each other for a day after the fight and when that day was over did they come back together and spoke like civilized people. They'd kiss and make-up."

"Did it work?" Arno asked.

"I think so, I mean, Mama still rolled her eyes at him and Papa still thundered at her from time to time, but no matter how vicious and nasty the fight got, even if Grisier went running off to get Bellec because it was getting so bad. They would go and read those letters, and come back feeling guilty about how they acted."

"Élise is stubborn, she would never listen," Arno said. "She will retain the thought that she is right and everyone else is wrong. She only managed to admit that she was wrong to my face once."

"Ha!" Valérie laughed, pushing her dough aside. "I'd like to see any woman that is _more stubborn_ than my mother! The Alps would budge before my mother, by all that is holy Arno, that is the God-given truth about Noémie LaHache."

"I believe Élise de la Serre is that woman, rivers bend around to avoid her," Arno said, a smile gracing her lips. "Is that it?"

"Yep, that's it, now we have to let them rise, Iris and Andrée will chop them up into loaves tomorrow and bake them," Valérie said. She smiled up at Arno. "I hope you and Élise reconcile. I know you brought her to the café before but you never had time to introduce her to us and I would like to meet her."

"I hope you get that chance Valérie," Arno said.

"I mean, she must really be something to capture your heart so thoroughly that you can't even pick up on the fact that Iris tries to flirt with you," Valérie said.

"Iris flirts with me?" Arno asked, arching a brow. Valérie laughed, patting Arno's arm.

"See," Valérie smiled, "utterly smitten," she said. "Goodnight Arno."

"Uh… goodnight then," Arno said, inclining his head a little. He left Valérie there and headed up to his room. He washed the flour off his hands, and lit a candle by the little end table with the box containing Élise's letters. He flipped through them until he found an old one, before her father's death, it was dated 1787. Sighing he opened it.

_My beloved Arno,_

_Oh how I miss you!_

_Everything is so incredibly dull here. Lesson after lesson, and my tutors have a stricter eye on me than previous ones so no chance for escapes. And the parties, nothing but pomp and circumstance, dreadfully boring. Dull as dirt really. Makes me miss you all the more, since your presents would liven up everything._

_Remember that one time, I think it was the spring of '79, my father hosted a grand gala at some noble's estate. We had captured a sackful of frogs earlier that day and we let them loose amongst all those high-tone and fancy-to-do people? Remember how we laughed until our sides got stitches as the frogs hopped about and frightening all those nobles? And I managed to blame the entire thing on Olivier?_

_I wish you were here so we can capture some frogs again and let them loose during these dreadful parties._

_I miss you. I miss your touch, your kisses, the very essence of you. The nights are not the same without you Arno. They feel colder, emptier and lonelier. Maybe when I return again to Versailles we can convince my father to let you court me properly or better yet give you my hand in marriage. I know we swore to each other we would get married, but we still need my father's approval. What do you think about that Arno? Us married? Me, Madame Élise Dorian. What a wonderful dream come true that would be, wouldn't it Arno?_

_I hope this letter finds you well and Olivier hasn't pushed too much of his tasks upon you. Until my return, take care._

_Je t'aime_

_Élise_

Arno sniffed, rubbing his nose as he stared at the letter in his hand. He remembered that party, and the frogs. He laughed until his sides hurt and Élise ended up with hiccups. She had a silver tongue for she managed to convince her father that Olivier had told them to catch the frogs and release them. They both escaped punishment. Somehow. Arno set the letter aside and pulled out another, smiling as he read it.

He read another, and then another, until he read all the letters they had exchanged over the years, remembering the good times and the bad. It was midnight and his heart felt about to burst, when he read the final letter she wrote during their hunt for Germain. She thought they'd settle down and become goat herders after Germain's death. "Unlikely," he muttered once he was finished reading it and tucking it back into the stack of its fellows. He pulled off his shirt and stripped to his undergarments before crawling into bed. He snuggled his pillow and fell asleep. Tomorrow he'd find Élise and bring her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> Broken (c) Seether 
> 
> This chapter was a bitch to start. My muse went on a strike, and the one that filled in sucked, and the one that replaced the first one actually got shit done. I would have had this chapter up earlier today but I went into town with my mom.
> 
> This is an Arno centric chapter. I'm pretty pleased with it, since I personally feel I struggle writing Arno (your thoughts?)
> 
> Jean-Jacques LaHache is the name of one of the Baguette Boyband members, the one dubbed Axeman. Émile Vipond is Greencoat and Icecream is Rémy Séverin. I gave Jean-Jacques a mother and a sister and an unnamed father (dad's dead so he's unimportant). His mother and sister are maids at the café.
> 
> Origianlly Corin was going to be Arno's apprentice but he has Léon to mind.
> 
> Anyway…
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
>  
> 
> PS: I'll work on the next chapter Thursday. Also, on chapters like these my goal is to make myself cry. I got close to tearing up on some points.
> 
> PPS: More editings


	13. The Hurricane

_All the times that I nearly broke your heart_ _,_ _all the times that we nearly fell apart_ _._ _Let it thunder over me my love_ _,_ _please let it thunder over you_ _._ _All the times that I tried to make you scream_ _,_ _all the anger and trouble to redeem_ _._ _Let it thunder over me my love,_ _please let it thunder over you! — Delain_

* * *

The last time she and Arno got into a fight, he had lost his position as an Assassin and fled Paris for Versailles. While Élise didn't think he would go to Versailles, she went there, to city where everything began. Just to see, just to make sure Arno hadn't crawled into a bottle and refused to leave.

Élise looked around, Versailles was exactly as she remembered it, last time she was here: falling apart. The once scintillating palaces of the monarchy, falling into ruin, their jewels and valuables looted by the poor, desperate and daring. Beggars lined the streets, grubby hands held up begging for a spare coin. Élise walked by them, making her way to the first tavern she happened across.

The barkeep was a scruffy man, with a scar across his forehead. "What can I do for ya mademoiselle?" he asked. "Though, ya look to be far from home, truth be told."

"I'm looking for someone," Élise said, ignoring the man's last comment. "A man, around my age. Brown hair, brown eyes, has a scar on his left cheek and a bit on his nose."

The barkeep frowned, scratching his chin. "No," he said, "can't say I've seen this fella around." He gave Élise an apologetic look. "Sorry mademoiselle," he said with a shrug.

Élise tsked, looking away. "Do you know if any other tavern keeper may have seen him? It's really important that I find him," Élise said.

"He a spurred lover or somethin'?" the man asked. Élise scowled, Arno wasn't a spurred lover.

"No," Élise said, tightly. "He's not." The barkeep held up his hands.

"Try the _Dragon's Head_ ," the man said, quickly, "just down the lane." He pointed in the direction of the other tavern. "Has a great big dragon's head… well, used to anyway," he added.

"Thank you," Élise said, smiling at him and leaving the tavern. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Just because one tavern keeper didn't see Arno didn't mean he _wasn't_ in Versailles. There were many taverns, and Arno was hard to find when he wanted to be.

 _No he isn't, he's probably in Paris at the Café Théâtre, drinking his pain away_ , she chided to herself. Élise frowned, she would only go to the Café Théâtre at last resort, the place was crawling with Assassins, like flies on shit. While it'll probably be the best spot to find Arno, she wouldn't not go near that place, especially if Arno had told the Council what happened in Franciade. "Trenet wants to negotiate but all I want to do is fine Arno." Élise gave an amused snort as she made her way to the _Dragon's Head_.

"He's not there," a voice said. Élise froze, grabbed her sword and spun around, drawing it with a flourish. She rested the gleaming tip at the Adam's apple of the speaker's throat. It was the same man she saw in the cavern, the one Rose called Cormac. "Sorry," he pushed her sword away from his throat, "didn't mean to startle ya."

Élise kept her sword up. "I remember you," she said, eyes narrowing. "You were in Franciade, speaking to Rose. He called you Cormac."

"Aye," he agreed, "I was there." He tilted his head like a curious wolf, "I had business there."

Élise snarled, "You use to be an Assassin. I can tell, you wear their wrist blades, move like one of them. Yet, you're a Templar. Tell me, why did you betray your brothers?"

The man gave an amused snort, a mirthful smile on his face. "Nah," he said with a shake of his head, "never was an Assassin. Born and raised Templar. M'da was an Assassin though, before he saw the Truth," he smiled, "I'm Kenneth Astor Cormac."

Élise blinked, though she didn't lower her sword. "Oh," she said. "And who was your father? If you don't mind me asking."

"Why do ya want to know?" Kenneth asked.

"Humor me," Élise said, giving him her prettiest smile.

"Still not a good enough reason," Kenneth said, "did m'da wrong you in the past?"

"I don't need a reason! I'm Élise de la Serre, Grand Master of the French Rite," Élise snarled, pressing the sword closer to his throat. "So I ask again: Who is your father?"

"Never heard of ya," Kenneth said, nonchalant and seemingly uncaring that she held a sword to his throat.

" _Answer_ me," Élise spat, she pressed the sword in closer, the sharp edge drawing a bead of blood. Kenneth swallowed.

"Fine," he spat, "M'da is Shay Patrick Cormac. There? Happy?"

"Extremely," Élise chimed, smug. "I supposed he showed you what he learned from his days as an Assassin, then?" She lowered the sword from his throat, flicking her wrist to rid the steel of his blood.

"Aye," Kenneth flicked his wrists and twin hidden blades snicked forth, gleaming in the sunlight. "He felt that the Truth requires an assassin's assassin," Kenneth said, smirking as he flicked his wrists again, the hidden blades retreating, "if ya catch my meaning."

Élise snorted, sheathed her blade and placed her hands on her hips. "Why are you here? Have you been following me?"

"Aye," Kenneth admitted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wrinkly shriveled apple. "I was hopin' to bargain the Apple off o' ya," he took a bite of his apple, "alas, ya don't have it."

"No," Élise sighed, wishing she had the Apple. It gnawed at her that she lost it. She should've rushed Arno for it, see if he'd kill her or drop it. "It's in Cairo."

"Cairo," Kenneth mumbled around a mouthful of apple. He swallowed. "I have a ship," he said, "I could take you to Cairo."

"Why do you want the Apple?" Élise asked. She had promised Mr. Weatherall she'll leave the Apple alone, but fate seemed to have dropped a golden chance in her lap, and she'd be damned if she didn't take it.

" _I_ don't," Kenneth said, " _she_ , on the other hand, does."

Élise's eyes grew wide: Germain on the ground. His hands clutching his ruined knee, red with his own blood. His laughter, that of a madman. "Fools! Fools, both of you!" Germain had laughed. "You have no idea… no idea! _She_ will be reborn again and _she_ will bring about a new era!"

"Ya okay?" Kenneth asked, touching Élise's shoulder. She backed away, slapping his hand off of her in the process. If Germain's mysterious woman wanted the Apple, then Élise wanted nothing to do it with. Anyone that associated with that man was pure poison, and anything he touched turned to rot.

Élise gave Kenneth a brittle smile. "You know where the damn thing is now," she hissed, "you can go there yourself."

"I'm waiting for my ship to be resupplied before heading back to Halifax," Kenneth said, shaking his head, "my work here is done. Mission ended in failure." He shrugged. "No worries though. I was told that if the opportunity arouse I should attempt to get the Apple from you. I'm just in Versailles looking for a gift for my sister. I promised her something."

"How sweet of you," Élise replied, glancing down the lane.

"But the man ya lookin' for isn't here," Kenneth said, "at least I haven't seen anyone matching his description."

"You surely get around," Élise said. Kenneth flashed her a wolfish grin.

"What can I say," he patted his chest, "I'm Irish, an' we Irish like a good drink," he said. Élise snorted.

"Thank you," she said, "Mr. Cormac. Your assistance has been a great boon to me."

"Pleasure then," Kenneth said. Élise turned and to walk away. "Oi, mademoiselle!" Élise turned to face Kenneth again. "Why ya askin' about m'dad? Did he kill someone ya knew?" Kenneth asked.

"No," Élise said shaking his head, "the name just sounds familiar. I want to know why. By the way, was your father ever in France?"

"Aye, twice actually," Kenneth said. Élise's breath hitched.

"When? What dates?" Élise asked, taking a few steps towards, a fire in her eyes. She could have the dates, she'd be able to look through her father's old records and see if he ever associated with a Shay Patrick Cormac. She knew she heard the name before Franciade, but she couldn't remember where.

"Uh… '76 and '79… if memory serves," Kenneth said, watching as Élise's eyes became large as saucers. "Mademoiselle?"

"1776? Are you sure?" Élise asked, grabbing Kenneth by his coat. He pulled her hands away.

"Aye, he had a mission in Versailles during that year, an' in 1779 he was the captain of a ship that brought a young woman to her future husband."

"Thank you," Élise said, pulling her hands free of Kenneth's grip. "You have been most helpful."

"I'm glad," Kenneth said, "ya take care now."

"I will," Élise said and hastily made her way back to her family's estate.

* * *

Once at the estate, she headed to her father's study, moving the statuette that opened to the hidden chamber where he had conducted his Templar business. The room brought back memories of her sitting with her parents as a girl, studying history, mathematics, and philosophy, all in preparation for being Grand Master. Her mother would supervise as Mr. Weatherall tutored her in the sword and pistol, while her father filled her head with knowledge. All from prying eyes, especially Arno's.

She had tutors, both she and Arno had the same tutor that taught them reading, writing, courtly etiquettes, and dancing. Élise flushed remembering how she and Arno would always partner for the dance lessons since there was no one else. It was during those dance lessons she began to see his transformation from boy to man, which only solidified after she saw him as a full-fledged Assassin.

Élise sighed, running her hand along her father's bookshelf. Thinking about Arno made her miss him, and missing him hurt. She trailed her fingers along the spines of the books her father had stored, amazed they survived Germain's coup. She found a small unadorned leather book, wedged between thick volumes. She pulled it out. There were no markings on the cover, not even an impression of the Templar cross. Nothing to give away it's true nature. She flipped it open, pages yellow and ink brown, the smell of its age wafting up to her nose.

Lightly, she traced her father's name, smiling at the sight of his looping hand. She flipped through the pages until she found the date she was looking for. She found it, skimming its contents quickly. She blinked rapidly, eyes widening at what she found. She glanced about for a chair, and sat down once she found one.

_December 27, 1776._

_Today, I took in Arno Victor Dorian, the son of the assassin Charles Dorian, who was found dead in the Palace of Versailles. Julie insists I write a letter to the boy's mother. I've already asked some friends to track the boy's mother down so I can inform her of her husband's death and her son's status. Earlier this evening, I had a most unusual visitor. An Irishman, bearing the wrist blades of an Assassin, but wearing the Templar cross. He introduced himself as Shay Patrick Cormac._

_Upon further inquiry, I learned that he too was at the Palace and that he did in fact slay Charles Dorian. Tragic that Arno should lose his father in such away, regardless, I have plans for the boy already, and Élise seems taken with him. He would make a fine Templar when he's older, and possibly an ideal husband for Élise..._

Élise stopped reading, staring at the passage. Her father knew. Her father knew who killed Arno's father and he never told Arno. "It was all for the best," she muttered, closing the little book and sticking it back on the shelf. "Father did what he felt was right. That's all we can do," she whispered. She stared at the book, debating whether or not she should tell Arno about what she had found. "Eventually," she said, "once we get Franciade behind us." She yawned, another wave of tiredness washing over her. She hoped she wasn't coming down with something. Regardless, tomorrow she'll return to Paris.

* * *

Paris.

Élise would forever have a love-hate relationship with this city. So much sorrow, so much death. Yet, Arno was here. She could feel it in her marrow. Now she had to find him. She went straight for the Café Théâtre, glad to see the café was still the same as always. She entered; it was almost lunch and she knew Arno liked to eat and watch the performances. She scanned the tables and booths. No Arno.

"Élise!" Élise looked up, heart in her throat. "Élise! You're back!" Valérie shouted, running up to her and giving her a quick hug. "It's so good to see you again. Arno would be so pleased," Valérie clicked her tongue, and shook her head. "Pity though, you just missed him! He went out looking for you."

 _He's looking for me? Oh, Arno._ "He is?" Élise asked, twisting her hands nervously. She felt a pang of guilt upon the news. She should've gotten here sooner. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No," Valérie said with a pout. "He didn't. Just that he'd be out late, so save a plate of dinner for him."

Élise chuckled, glad that the Café's staff was so supportive, then again most of the staff had family that were Assassins. "If Arno comes back sooner, could you tell him to meet me at _La Rose et Thorn_?" Élise asked. "If he asks why, tell him I want to talk to him."

"Of course, it'll be the first thing I tell him," Valérie said with a nod, "but I wouldn't count of him coming back early. He's been stay out well past dark looking for you," she added. Élise smiled.

"I'm sure he'll be back shortly," Élise said. "I must go; I don't want to not be there when he gets there. Remember, _La Rose et Thorn_!"

"Bye then," Valérie said. Élise paused and turned around.

"Oh, and I gave directions to here to a friend of mine. Don't worry, he's trustworthy. He was my fencing master. Frederick Weatherall is his name. He's with my lady's maid, Helene. See to it that they are treated as guests."

"I'll pass it onto my mother and Mademoiselle Gouze," Valérie said, "and Arno if he stops by before dark."

"Thank you," Élise said and rushed off to wait Arno at _La Rose et Thorn_.

* * *

Arno trudged back to the café, the sun long set and no Élise. He'd been looking for her for two days and still no sign of her anywhere in Paris. He passed through the gate, nodding at Louis and Nicolas, entering the parlor of the café. " _Bonsoir_ , Monsieur," Andrée greeted him, hauling dirty dishes from the café to the kitchen. She flashed him a bright smile, her teeth a sharp contrast against her dark skin. Arno nodded. "Iris saved you something to eat," Andrée added.

"Thank you, but I'm not that hungry," he said and climbed the stairs before Andrée could answer.

"Arno!" Valérie called, rushing up to him. He smiled at her, and murmured a soft greeting, which she returned. "Arno, this way, there's a gentleman waiting to speak with you. He knows Élise."

"Oh really?" Arno said, allowing Valérie to grab his coat sleeve and tug him along to the dining hall. There he saw a man with silvery hair and beard, and a young woman. The man had a pair of crutches resting up against the table besides him. Arno sat near the odd pair. "Uhm… hello."

"Frederick Weatherall," the man said, holding out his hand. Arno took it, shaking it.

"Arno Dorian," he said, "uh, how can I help you?"

"So, _you're_ Arno," Weatherall said. "Glad to finally put a name to the face." Arno gave the man a brittle smile.

"Indeed I am," he chuckled nervously, "but you still haven't told me why you're here."

"Élise told us to come here. She's agreed to the truce or at least agreed to talk to your Mentor about it."

"Well, that's excellent," Arno said with a bob of his head, "alas, Élise isn't here right now."

"I know, and I'm telling you boy, she's out there, looking for you. Valérie said she told her to pass on that she'll be at _La Rose et Thorn_ ," Weatherall said. "Élise has forgiven you," he pushed out his lips in a huff, "which a damn near a bloody miracle. Élise de la Serre changing her mind about something."

Arno stared at the man for several long moments, before rapidly getting to his feet and nearly knocked the chair over. "Thank you, I'm sorry, but thank you," Arno stammered, his mind working too fast for his mouth to form proper words. He pivoted on his foot to avoid Valérie (who had brought his plate) and rushed out of the café in search of Élise.

* * *

He reached the _La Rose et Thorn_ about a half-hour later, cursing it for being on the north bank of the Seine. He was disappointed to see that it was close, the owner cleaning up for the night. " _Bonsoir_ , Monsieur," Arno greeted, walking up to the owner. The scruffy man in a stained apron looked up.

"We're closed, if you want a drink head down the street, one of the taverns should be open at this hour," the man said. Arno gave a smile and flexed his hands.

"Actually, I'm wondering if you've seen a woman here. She has red hair, blue-green eyes, looked to be waiting for someone?" Arno asked. The owner gave a ragged sigh.

" _Oui,_ I've seen her," he said, "she an't here obviously." The man gestured to the empty tables and chairs.

"How long ago did she leave?" Arno asked.

"At sunset when I closed up. She paid for her meal and left," he said.

" _Merde!_ " Arno swore and bit his fist. "Do you know which way she went? Did she say where she was heading?"

"No, and I didn't ask," the man said and then shrugged, "I think she went up the street, though don't quote me on it."

" _Merci_ ," Arno said, and gave the man a coin for his troubles. Arno ran to the nearest building scrambling up the side. He panted once he got onto the roof and ran along it, glancing down at the street below him. Nothing, no sign of Élise. He ran along the roofs until he was on the outer edge of the slums where de Sade kept his so-called kingdom.

* * *

Arno dropped down with a thud, grunting softly. He stood up and dusted himself off, glancing around for a flash of red hair. Nothing. He stopped a man with shifty eyes gazing at the crowds that passed, a few women by his side breasts about ready to pop out of their tight corsets. They twittered when they saw him. Arno walked up to the man they were with. "Ah," the shifty eye man said. "Have you spotted a flower you'd like to pluck, monsieur?"

Arno made a face but failed to mask his disgust. He never had a taste for whores, ever since he was nineteen, when he and Élise first made love, he only ever wanted her in his bed. "Not here for your," he stopped himself, "… _flowers_. I'm looking for someone, a woman."

"Ah, another flower, _oui_?" the man said. "What flower are you looking for?"

"She has red hair, and blue-green eyes," Arno said.

"I've seen plenty of flowers with blue eyes and red hair. Clarisse there has the coloring you desire."

"She would be wearing trousers, with a sword at her hip," Arno said. The man grinned.

"Yes, I've seen _that_ particular flower," he purred. Arno frowned, grabbing the man by his collar and slamming him up against the wall. His tittering whores gasped in shock, hands covering as they backed away.

"Where is she?" Arno snarled, shaking the man. If this man had hurt Élise or knew someone that hurt Élise, there would be hell to pay. "Where? Which way did she go?"

The man chuckled, his breath rancid and Arno noticed a few of his teeth had rotten. "She was a delightful bitch, full of fire and fight. Enjoyed every minute of it. She squealed like a suckling pig beneath me."

Arno's blood boiled. Snarling, Arno punched him, the pimp's nose giving a satisfying crunch beneath his fist and blood gushed freely down the man's lips and chin. "Now tell me what you know _if_ you know anything!" Arno shouted. "As you can clearly see, I'm not in the mood to be fucked with. Where is she?"

"I have no idea whom your talking back, sir!" the man finally admitted, "Talk to de Sade! He knows all that goes on here. He'll know if the flower you seek passed through here."

Arno snorted, and punched the man again. "Thank you," he said, dropping the pimp and heading towards where de Sade kept his "court".

He entered it and found it just as appalling as last time. A whore chortled, skirts in hand has she trotted away, her beau for the night following her lacking his trousers, cock swinging freely with each step. Arno rolled his eyes, walking towards the cushions de Sade sat on. He glared at the women around the Marquis and they scattered. "Oh, Arno," de Sade cooed, not bothering to look at him, "why did you do that? We were having such delightful fun."

"Have you seen Élise? Did she pass through here?" Arno asked. He was in no mood to play mind-games. The Marquis languidly tilted his head up to look up at Arno, his eyes darkling with some hidden emotion. "Well?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," de Sade said. "Why don't you sit and join me for a moment, your scintillating conversation may jog my memory." The Marquis grabbed Arno and pulled him down onto the cushions; an arm snaked around Arno's shoulders, as the Marquis leaned in too close for comfort. "So disappointed you didn't visit my kingdom earlier, and after I gave you such a _generous_ sum for your assistance in Franciade."

"Look, de Sade, I'm not in the mood for mind-games, just answer my question: have you seen Élise?"

"Why do you want to know where she is?" de Sade asked, "Did you two have a lover's spat?" The Marquis shifted closer to Arno. "I always found comfort in a new lover whenever I suffered from a broken heart. Maybe you can explore new avenues of pleasure," he said trailing his hand from Arno's knee to his thigh. "I'm more than willing to guide you down such avenues."

"I'm not in the mood," Arno growled, pushing de Sade's hand away, his cheeks a furious pink.

"You should visit again when you _are_ in the mood," de Sade said, eyes darkling as he gave a humorless chuckle. "As for your sweet Élise, I did see her."

"When? Where?" Arno growled, leaning in close, hands on either side of de Sade's hips. The Marquis smirked, looking remarkably like the cat that ate the cream.

"Arno," de Sade purred, cupping Arno's chin, "I thought you aren't in the mood."

"Where is Élise!" Arno snarled.

"I always did like my boys feisty." The Marquis gave Arno a vicious grin, one hand cupping Arno's ass, "You have a magnificent ass, Arno," de Sade purred, giving Arno's ass a squeeze. Arno felt his cheeks heat as he flicked his wrist blade out, pointing it at de Sade's groin.

"You'll tell me where is Élise or I'll cut it off, I swear de Sade," Arno growled, nose inches from the Marquis.

"Pleasure _and_ pain," de Sade chuckled, "my, my Arno. You _are_ a naughty, naughty boy." Arno cut the fabric covering de Sade's thigh, a thin trickle of blood appearing against the man's white skin. "She's not here," de Sade said, his playful tone gone. "She came by shortly after sunset looking for you. Alas, you weren't here so she left. I presumed she's gone back to her family's house in Paris."

Arno snorted, standing up. His wrist blade snicking back out of sight. "Thank you," he said tightly and walked away.

"Oh, Arno," de Sade called, "I'm hurt that I don't even get a goodbye kiss!" Arno made a rude gesture at de Sade. The Marquis chuckled. "Come by again when you are in the mood!" Arno didn't say anything to that and simply left the whorehouse.

* * *

He found her.

He finally found her. She was walking down an abandon alley, hair damp from the rain. He followed her from the rooftops, feeling like a predator and she his prey. She stopped, looking around almost as if she could hear him. He dropped down, behind her. Élise jumped a little turning to see him. "Élise," Arno said, pulling the hood from his head. He wanted to reach out to her, take her in his arms and smell her hair, taste her skin. Mend the rift that had sprung up between them. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"And I've been looking for you," Élise said, "why didn't you meet me at _La Rose et Thorn_?"

"I didn't get back to the café until late, by the time I got there, you were gone," Arno explained. He let out a deep sigh before looking at her. All he could think of was how beautiful she was. "I missed you," Arno said, his voice soft, nearly inaudible due to the steady patter of the rain. He'd been having trouble sleeping, the mistakes of his past coming back to torment him in the lonesome hours of the night. He'd wake to find her side of the bed empty, her comforting presence gone. But she was here now, and she had forgiven him. He closed the gap between them, reaching for her to pull her into a kiss.

The next thing he knew he was slammed up against the wall. He blinked, staring at her enraged expression, terribly confused about what was going on. "É-Élise?"

"How dare you! How dare you! How dare you come here and try to kiss me after everything you've done! After everything you stolen from me! You ruined _everything_ , Arno!" Élise snarled, grabbing him by his coat and slamming him against the wall again.

"R-Ruined? Élise, wh-what are you talking about?" Arno asked, his eyes wide with confusion.

"You stole my one chance at honoring my parents' memory! I saw it, Arno. I finally saw it and understood everything and you had to take it from me! I could've stopped all this madness! I could've saved lives! I could've made a world a better place, where I— _children_ wouldn't have to suffer!"

"Élise, what are you talking about?"

"The Apple, damn you! You took the Apple from me!" Élise screamed, "If you had just given it to me I could've saved him! I could've prevented everything!"

"Élise," Arno said, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her back a bit, he could see the tears in her eyes, the pain she held in for too long. "Élise, the Apple would not have brought your father back." She stared at him, a maelstrom of sorrow and fury. "I'm sorry Élise," he began, the words coming easier as he spoke, "I truly am. I'm sorry that my carelessness got your father killed, I'm sorry I stole parts of your revenge, I'm sorry for taking the Apple from you," he sighed, "but I love you and I would rather you hate me for eternity than to see you mad with power."

"I only wanted to use the Apple for good. To bring peace," Élise whispered, allowing him to pull her against his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"How Élise?" Arno asked, pushing her back to look at her face. "How exactly would you bring peace?"

"I would use the Apple to make them see, to convince everyone that—"

"Your way is the right way," Arno said. "The Élise I know and love, would never do that. She would work with them, to make them understand via her actions that her way is the correct path. She's a negotiator not a tyrant."

"Arno," Élise looked at her feet, "all I wanted was to bring peace."

"By controlling people? Élise, that type of peace is the _worst_ kind. It's nothing more than an illusion." Arno said, glaring at her. "Would you want to live in a world where you are controlled?"

Élise looked away. "When will enough _be_ enough," she muttered.

"Yes, when, Élise?" Arno asked. "I would've dropped it," he said to fill the silence. She looked up at him. "The Apple, if you rushed me I would've dropped it before I ever killed you." He shoved her away from him then, an irritated look on his face. "I've lost my mother, my father, my adoptive father, my mentors… you are _all_ I have left. I was willing to _kill_ you, Élise! To save you from being consumed by madness!" he snapped.

"Arno, I—"

"I… I've done everything for you," he held her gaze, his own pent up frustration burning in his eyes, "saved your life countless times, but each time… I wonder do you care? Is it even worth it? Am I nothing more than a means to an end for you?"

Élise bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Shame cooled her anger, like a dousing bucket of water on a fire. Her heart ached, realizing that her actions caused him to question her love for him. The soothing rain soaked through her clothes, as she wrapped her arms around herself. It dripped from her hair and rolled down her cheeks, masking her tears. It hurt, the pain in her heart, why did love have to hurt so much? "I'm sorry, Arno. _Mon Dieu_ , I'm sorry."

"…thank you."

"I love you," she said, looking up at him, distraught, "I love you so much Arno that it hurts. It hurts so much. Please, I'm sorry… I never… I should've realized, oh Arno, I'm so terribly sorry."

"Élise, I—" he stopped, unsure how to continue. His anger had yet to cool, he probably should go, their relationship was in its death throes, nothing left to salvage. He best figure out how to pick up the pieces and move on.

She caught him off guard, pinning him against the wall and pressing her lips against his. Arno let out a shuddering moan, as her tongue traced his lower lip. He parted his lips, shuddering as their tongues met. "Élise, what… what are you—" she silenced him with another bruising kiss.

"Fuck me," she growled, nipping his lip. "Just shut up and fuck me, damn you." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his throat. She nipped the skin there, tugging at it, eliciting a growl from his throat. He grabbed her hips and reversed their positions slamming her against the wall with a jarring force. She laughed, tracing a finger along his jaw. "Are you going finally take control? Be a man and fuck me proper?"

He ground his teeth. "Damn you." He kissed her, the pressure bruising. "You want me to fuck you," he growled, he grabbed her by the thighs, hoisting her up onto his hips and pressed her against the wall, her back thudding against it. "Fine, I'll fuck you," he rasped, kissing her face, her lips, along her jaw and down her throat, growling in annoyance at the lace at her throat. Élise moaned, the sound honey-sweet to his ears.

Élise gasped, feeling his fingers trace the curves of her breasts, the rough fabric making her nipples hard. "Arno," she panted, his breath hot on her neck as he left heated kisses and nips along her skin. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugged the ribbon free, his dark hair falling forward to shield their faces.

He growled, low and guttural. He bit her neck, pinching her skin between his teeth until she yelped. She tugged at his hair painfully, pulling him free from her neck and pressed a painful kiss against his lips. He yanked her pants open, a few buttons popping free. He wasn't planning on being gentle; cold fingers against her warm womanhood causing Élise to gasp. She moaned when he pushed two fingers inside her, teasing her forcefully. She panted, moaning in his ear, while he continued to babble in a mix of German and French.

"French, Arno… speak… French, damn you," she hissed into his ear, nipping and tugging at his lobe. She bucked her hips, clinging onto his shoulders for more support.

" _Merde_ ," he growled, he heard her moan of frustration when he removed his fingers from her, to tug the flap at the front of his pants open.

"Arno, I'm getting im—" Élise gasped suddenly as he thrust into her, filling her up. "patient," she finished, a wince on her face at the suddenness of his thrust.

It felt so good being inside her. He smirked, eyes hooded, not waiting for her to adjust to him, before he began to thrust, quick sharp movements, a different angle each time as he struggled to support her weight against the wall and keep them joined.

Élise leaned forward, panting and moaning, lips finding his, tongues waging a war for dominance. She moaned into his mouth when he found the right spot, sending pleasurable shivers all around her body.

The rain came down steadily, but she ignored her it, forgot all about it. Reality had narrowed to just her and Arno. Each thrust sending her closer to the edge, a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. She came suddenly, her head butting up against the wall, her face twisted in pleasure as she gasped in rapture. Arno came shortly after, hot seed spilling into her. He rested his head on her shoulder, panting and she rested her cheek against his head, humming softly as she stroked his loose damp hair.

Gently, slowly, he pulled out and set her down and laced himself up while she did the same. She looked at him, blushing, a bit baffled that the just had sex in an alley in the middle of the night like they were nothing more than a whore and her beau. Élise tugged Arno's hood up, and tucked his hair behind his ears. "I love you," she said.

He panted, but a smile had spread across his lips. He sniffed, rubbing at his nose. He kissed her again, softly, tenderly. "I love you, too," he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> The Hurricane (c) Delain
> 
> So… I struggled with this chapter. I had a bad Thursday. Dad cut access to my internet on Sheldon. Luckily! Howard, old reliable Howard, still has internet! So, that's why you get a chapter! :D
> 
> Also, I know many of you (the vast majority of you) have probably read the Unity novel and are going to cry that that's not what happened and blah, blah, blah. I. Don't. Care.
> 
> This is my story, using my headcanons about their childhood years. So, don't like it? Tough. I promise you though, if you stick with me, you'll get a good story.
> 
> And we finally find out who that mysterious Cormac is. :D
> 
> Yes, he's Shay's son. I've given Shay two kids. A daughter, the eldest, named Anne and a son, the younger, named Kenneth. I have another story in my head featuring them and my Connorline kids. Don't know when that'll get written. :P


	14. Picking Up the Pieces

Élise awoke to the gloomy pre-dawn, Arno's soft snores lulling her to return to sleep, his arm around her waist. The rain was coming down, casting Paris in a haze of silvery grey. Élise looked around, noting their discarded clothes on the floor, wondering what could have woken her. Arno grunted in his sleep, rubbing his nose against her shoulder. She saw it then, by the bay windows, a note had been slipped beneath one. It brought back memories of the unopened letter in her father's study.

Fear freezing her gut, Élise disentangled herself from Arno's warm embrace and slipped out of bed, shivering in the chill morning. She pulled on a shift and padded over to the letter. She plucked it from the floor and sat in the nearest chair, the muted first rays of dawn giving her enough light to read the note. There was no address on the envelop, just her name and the Templar cross in the corner. Frowning, Élise picked up Arno's letter opener, and slid the thin blade beneath the envelope's flap. She pulled out the single paged letter.

_Sister—_

_Please, do not be alarmed by my contacting you for I write to you in haste. I hope that soon we'll be able to meet face to face as you and I are all that's left of our great order after the fall of that bastard François-Thomas Germain. It grieves me to hear that he was the source behind your noble father's death._

_As you prepare yourself to rebuild the Order, a word of caution I give to you: trust no one. Not even those you call friend._

_Enemies swarm around you, hiding in the shadows, Templar and Assassin alike. The death of Germain and his inner circle have allowed weaker and more obscure elements of our Order to make a grab for power. They will beguile you with honey tongues and sweeter lies, even attempt to usurp your claim as Grand Master. You are young and naïve, easily blinded by all that glitters and I would hate to have the same fate befall you that befell your father._

_Please, sweet sister, I urge you to trust me._

_Again, please do not be alarmed and stay on your guard. I wish you all the best as the new Grand Master of the French Rite of the Knights Templar._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you._

Arno gave a loud snort in his sleep. Élise looked up watching him roll into the warm spot she left behind. He kicked the blanket until one leg was exposed, the curve of is buttocks visible. She held the letter opener, then looked down at the letter in her hand, reading it again. How did this person know where she was staying? Had Ruddock betrayed her? Was she being followed? Were they the mysterious Lady Eve Kenneth mentioned beneath Franciade? Though the way they spoke of Germain made Élise believe that whoever penned the letter wasn't one of Germain's agents.

Élise looked about the room, searching for shadows, yet finding none. She stood, setting the letter opener down. She began to pace, holding the letter in her hand, rereading it until she could almost recite the letter verbatim. Arno made another sleepy sound, then scratched his back.

Élise looked around Arno's room, kicking at the discarded clothes as she walked pass them. He certainly knew how to warm her up after making their way through the rainy streets of Paris last night. She was sweating by the time they had finished, her heart full to bursting with love and happiness, her emotions reflected in his eyes. She felt safe and warm in his arms. They had fallen asleep in each other's embrace, their heartbeats their lullabies. She groaned, tossing her hands down and glancing at the ceiling. The cryptic origins of the letter caused a flood of nervous energy to rush through her body.

Élise walked over to the desk and tossed the letter upon it. She'll show it to Mr. Weatherall later. She turned back to her clothes, grimacing at them then going to the Arno's wardrobe and opening it. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of the wood and his lingering scent. Tucked at the bottom was a fresh pair of her own clothes. She glanced at him, before grabbing her clothes and dressing. Élise almost wanted to wake him up, but last night had been a whirlwind of emotions. No, best let Arno sleep. Blowing him a kiss, she left Arno's room.

Élise wandered down the hall, the café still and silent in the early morning. She heard sound of sword strikes against training dummies, following it Élise found the training room. She watched the man within, his skin dark, his rapier making lightning quick flashes in the gloomy light. Élise entered the room and watched the man train in silence. He stopped after a few heartbeats, his back to her. "What do you want Templar?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"How did you know I was a Templar?" Élise asked, coming further into the room. He turned to face her, body relax yet capable of springing into action.

"Your footsteps," he said, pointing the tip of his blade at her feet, "while light, indicative of someone familiar with the blade are too heavy for someone of the Brotherhood."

"You could tell that by the sound of my footsteps?" Élise asked. The man nodded. "How did you guess I was Templar and not just some swordfighter?"

"Again, your footsteps. A common swordsman would have a light step, a Templar a lighter step, and an Assassin the lightest. Your footsteps weren't the first or the last, so—"

"The middle option, Templar," Élise said, smiling. "Clever, can all Assassins tell the difference in the sound of a person's steps?"

"You speak of Arno, no?" the man said. Élise blushed and he chuckled. "He can. Though I suppose he can tell it's you by more than just your footsteps. I'm rude," he said, inclining his head in apology, "Augustine Grisier. I train the Assassins in combat, er, beyond what their masters already tutor them in."

"Élise," she said, "I thought Assassins were supposed to stick to the shadows."

"Think of what I teach the Assassins as… plan B."

"I see," Élise said perusing the weapons on the wall. She selected a graceful blade with a basket hilt. She hefted it, getting a feel for its balance before giving it a few experimental swings. "Heavier than what I'm used to," Élise muttered, before facing Grisier. "You don't mind, do you?"

He chuckled. "Not at all, it's always more enjoyable with a partner," he said. Élise laughed, taking an en garde stance.

"I know what you mean," she said, smiling as she delivered the first strike. Grisier deftly blocked, their swords meeting, singing steel's song. Grisier disengaged his weapon with Élise's. He swung and Élise blocked, she took a step closer bearing down on him. He laughed, pushed against her, sending her staggering back a few steps. His follow up strikes lashed out viper-swift, Élise had trouble blocking them, and rolled to the side to avoid the final one.

Grisier didn't give a moment to breath, his sword darting in and out like a flitting hummingbird, searching for a weakness in her defense. Élise growled, the thrill of this dance thrumming in her veins. She had always enjoyed swordplay more so than other womanly endeavors. She spun, twirling her blade with a flourish to block Grisier's blade at the side, the steel singing loudly in the early morning stillness. She panted, sweat glistening on her brow, her red hair sticking to her skin, and a large grin on her lips. "You have great skill," Grisier said. "Who—"

"Bloody hell, Élise!" Weatherall groused, from the doorway, leaning on his crutches, "How many times to I have to tell you stop bloody showing off!"

"Mr. Weatherall?" Élise stammered, lowering her sword. Grisier lowered his as well, tilting his head to the side, curious. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to prevent you from making a damn fool of yourself," Weatherall huffed, hobbling to a chair and sitting down. "Alright, continue. Don't mind me, I'm just the old fart that taught her the sword."

"It's just a spar, Mr. Weatherall," Élise retorted, indignant. Weatherall's face purpled.

"Just a spar? Just a spar!" Weatherall thundered, thumping his crutches on the ground. "Have you forgotten everything I taught you? The only difference between a spar and a real fight is that both participants have agreed to not kill each other."

Élise bowed her head, worrying the ground with the point of her sword. "Yes," she acquiesced, "you're right. I'm sorry."

He pursed his lips, flaring his moustache. "Of course you are," he mumbled, then he offered a kind smile. "Anyway, continue." He waved his hand and Élise slid back into a proper fighting stance, acutely aware her teacher was now going to be hyper critical of all her moves. Grisier began to press the attack, pulling her concentration from Weatherall's presence in the room to focus on not allowing Grisier first blood.

The sun began to rise and her arms began to burn with exhaustion. "Move your feet Élise!" Weatherall barked. She grimaced, moving her feet, and when she executed a particularly fancy move he'd bark, "Élise, damn you, I told you how many times to stop showing off?!" She couldn't remember the last time she sparred so intensely and with such a skilled partner. Probably back when she was still training, before her father died and her world came crashing down around her ears, before revenge consumed her. She and Arno will have to start sparring again to keep their skills sharp. Germain may be dead but the mysterious letter writer was right about one thing: Enemies lurked everywhere.

A shadow flickered behind Grisier, near one of the windows. A person, watching them. Élise fixed her gaze for a moment upon the figure. She blinked, and the specter vanished. The tip of Grisier's sword was suddenly too close to her face. She brought her sword up to guard, but it only managed to deflect the blade slightly, scoring a hit. The tip nicked the corner of her eye, stopping at her ear. "Élise, I'm sorry," Grisier said, dropping his blade.

She touched the wound, blood coming away. "Don't be," Élise said, "it was my fault."

"What the bloody hell happened, Élise?" Weatherall asked, pushing himself up and onto his crutches. He hobbled over to her, taking her chin in his gnarled old hands and looking at the small cut by her eye. "Just a cut, nothing too serious. What happened?"

"I… I got distracted," Élise mumbled, glancing at the window. Weatherall looked in the direction as well. He frowned.

"Keep your head about you when you fight," he added.

"My apologies, Élise," Grisier said. "I hope Arno wouldn't be too upset."

Élise smiled. "Arno will understand, but I think that means I'm done for the day," she laughed, smiling at both men. "Thank you for allowing me to spar with you," Élise told Grisier, "even if I am a Templar."

"Arno speaks highly of you," Grisier said, "that alone assures you some measure of… safety from our blades within these walls." Grisier smiled. "Besides, you handle the blade well. Sometimes the way a person wields a weapon speaks louder than their words. You have my respect."

"Thank you, I'm pleased to hear that Arno's wrath is terrifying enough to make you all think twice about trying to gut me," Élise laughed. She handed Grisier her sword. "Next time you won't have such an easy victory."

"I look forward to it mademoiselle," Grisier said. Élise inclined her head.

"And while I'm here, I'll like to introduce my teacher," Élise said, resting her hand on Weatherall's shoulder. "Frederick Weatherall, he too is a Templar, and my guest."

"Augustine Grisier," the Assassin said. Weatherall smiled and shook his hand.

"Pleasure," Weatherall said.

"Well, I'll leave you two to discuss swordplay," Élise said, leaving the training room.

* * *

The maids had begun their morning chores, Élise could smell baking bread and bacon; her stomach grumbled in response. One maid passed her in the hall, a basket of dirty laundry in her arms.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," Élise said, snagging the maid by the arm. "Could you fetch me some hot water for a bath and clean clothes?"

The maid stared at Élise with a mixture of horror and jealousy that was quickly masked with submissiveness. "Oui," she mumbled, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

"Merci," Élise replied. "Bring it to Arno's room if you would be so kind."

"Of course Mademoiselle," the girl mumbled, grey eyes on the floor. She trotted off quickly, not daring to look back at Élise. The redhead snorted, a bit bemused by the girl before entering Arno's room. She found Arno still sleeping, smiled at the sight. She was tempted to join him. Despite a vigorous spar, she felt tired. A knock sounded on the door and Élise turned to see the maid. She smiled at the young woman and watched her pour the bath water. Élise thanked her once she was done, stripped and entered the tub. She washed quickly, she was never a fan long soaks.

She got out of the tub and stared at herself in the mirror. Her breasts have been tender of late, and she had her bleeding last week. Both weren't caused for concern; it was the tiredness she was worried about. Her breasts always got tender around her bleedings. "I'm just stressed," Élise told herself, before slipping on a shift and padding over to the bed. It was still early morning, and she could give herself a few private hours with Arno. She slipped in, snuggling close to him.

He jerked his feet away, opening his eyes. "Your feet are wet," he whispered, placing a hand on her hip and running it up and down her side. Élise gave him a lazy smile.

"Well, you're warm," she said tapping his nose. He chuckled, stretching. He looped his arms around her, kissing her temple. "You're feeling better, Arno?" Élise asked, cupping his cheek. He nodded, tilting his head to kiss her palm. She stroked his cheek, feeling the coarseness of his stubble against her fingers.

"I am," he said, "and I will be." He ran his hand up her stomach and over her breasts, stopping to squeeze one. Élise hissed at the unexpected pressure. Arno smirked, repeating the action.

"Arno, stop it," Élise said, squirming away from him and pushing his hand off her breasts. "They're tender and it hurts."

"I can be gentle," he cooed into her neck and placed a kiss there. "Though you seemed to enjoyed it rough last night," he kissed her behind the ear, "in the alley."

"Arno!" Élise shrieked through her laughter. "I like it when you're gentle too."

"Ah, but you enjoy it when I'm rough," he teased, smiling when she giggled. "You know," his hand snaking back up to her breasts, "I've heard women have tender breasts when they're pregnant," Arno mused, tracing the curve of her breast with a finger. Élise froze.

"I'm not pregnant," she said, swallowing thickly.

"Oh, I didn't think you were, I was just saying…" Arno trailed off. She winced, knowing how strongly he wanted a child. She twisted around to look at him, a smile on her face. She kissed him.

"We'll have a family, Arno. I promise," she said, "we'll get there. We just… I just need some time."

"I understand," he muttered, though his embraced loosened. Élise felt a pang in her chest, wanting to cheer him up, wanting him to smile again, like he did before her initiation ceremony. She sighed, knowing she had to give him some hope.

"Maybe… maybe this spring," she said, tracing his jaw to get him to look at her. "We can try. I… The order should be settled then, well… most of it should be under my control by then. That's not far off. Would that be acceptable?" Élise asked. "I mean; we have a lot to rebuild before we start… building something new."

She felt him sigh, his embrace tightening around her. Élise smiled, snuggling against him. "Spring sounds good," he mumbled into her hair. "Though, what all do you have to do for your order?"

Élise groaned. Not wanting to think about that particular headache right now. "Germain's death has sent the order into complete chaos. There are those that are loyal to him, those loyal to whatever charismatic they've chosen to rally around," Élise said, "and then there are those that are still loyal to the de la Serre name. They're in hiding in other countries or dead or too terrified of Germain's supporters to openly support me."

"Sounds like a terrible mess."

"It is," Élise said. "A mess I could've avoided if I asserted myself after my father's death." But I didn't. "Now that I'm proposing a truce with the Assassins, it'll be even harder for me to find allies."

"You'll find them," Arno said with confidence she didn't feel. "What else?"

"Well, I'm going to need an ascension ceremony. Typically, they aren't required, but I need to make a public statement about becoming Grand Master and I'll need a soirée afterward."

"You think the people will approve of a soirée?" Arno asked.

"No… I don't know. They might, especially if I say all are welcome and this is to celebrate the dawning of a new era for the people of France," Élise sighed. "I'll talk to Mr. Weatherall, I'm sure he'll know what to do."

"I haven't really met him, but he seems like an honorable person… for a Templar," Arno said. Élise giggled, knowing he teased her.

"He is," Élise said, "he's very dear to me. The kindly uncle I never had. I'll introduce you two properly, later."

"He'll be at our wedding I assume."

"The wedding," Élise sighed. Just another thing to worry about. They needed parental consent for a marriage contract, and money for the bans and the official. Not to mention money for the reception, and someplace willing to host it, and food for the guest and money to pay the cook. She needed to make an appointment with a seamstress for a wedding dress, and she had to sew Arno a shirt. Élise sniffed, tears leaking from her eyes. She rubbed at them furiously.

"Élise, it's alright," Arno said, a note of panic in his voice. "We don't have to get married now. I was thinking a wedding in December would be nice."

"December? Yes, that… that would be nice," Élise said, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I'm just stressed."

"Élise, it's alright," Arno said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm here. You don't have to do everything on your own, please," he looked at her, "allow me to take some of the burden. I can talk to the magistrate at the city hall. I can take care of the finances and funding, de Sade gave us the ten thousand livres, we can use some of the money to fund the wedding. It'll be alright Élise."

"I know, I know," Élise took several deep breaths until she got her nerves under control. "I'm sorry, I haven't been feeling myself lately."

"It's alright," Arno said, "the last week has been difficult for both of us."

"I don't know how to be a wife, Arno," Élise said, "I'm dismal at being domestic. I mean, Madame Angélique did try to teach me how to be a proper wife. Well, she managed, but I forgot almost everything she taught me! I was groomed to be the Grand Master! Not… not a _wife_!"

"Élise," Arno said, cupping her cheek, "I don't want a fancy wife. I don't want a wife that can manage a household and balance the books. I want you exactly as you are, as my wife."

"Arno…"

He gave her an easy smile. "I mean, if I had wanted a fancy wife I could've had my pick of anyone of the noble daughters in Versailles. All I had to do was smile at them and their hearts melted."

Élise pursed her lips together, before cupping his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss, nipping his lip. "Like I'd let one of those airheaded twits have you. You're mine Arno Victor Dorian, now and forever," Élise smirked, "whether you like it or not," she finished. She kissed him again, and he moaned, pulling her hips closer to his.

"Keep this up and my rifle will be primed and ready," Arno purred, grinding his hips against her. Élise flushed.

"So, early?" she teased, pressing a hand against his stomach, and she shifted her hips. He groaned softly, nibbling at her ear.

"Yes," Arno growled. His hips twitched when her hand slipped between them, finding his cock. "Élise," he said in a breathy sigh. Élise smirked.

"I don't mind if you fire my way," she cooed, pressing a small kiss to his lips, her hand running up and down his length. "Though," she whispered, a glint darkling in her eyes, "I have an idea."

"An idea?" Arno asked. He gasped, when her nail scratched the sensitive tip. Élise nodded, smirking in satisfaction at his expression: eyes closed, lips parted and a flush coloring his cheeks. He was at her complete mercy. "Wh-what's y-your idea?" he gasped, bucking against her hand. "Damn… that feels good."

She chuckled. "Well, I think you'll enjoy it," she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm. She slipped his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it for a moment, before peeling her lips to reveal his thumb caught between her teeth. She twisted her hand, and a moan escaped his lips. He pulled his thumb free and traced her lips with it.

"I like that idea," Arno muttered. "Just so long as you don't bite me like last time." Élise chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him before slipping out of the bed. "Élise!" Arno protested. Élise giggled, trotting over to the door and locking it. A lusty look appeared in her eye and she lifted her chin.

"Get comfortable Arno," she said. "You'll be screaming by the time I'm finished." She winked at him, "I promise won't bite... much." 

* * *

The air in the sanctuary was still, like a trap waiting to be sprung. Élise could feel the eyes of the Assassins lurking in the shadows upon her, eagles whispering to each other, wondering why the mouse had wandered into their eyrie. She pressed herself closer to Arno, finding his fingers, lacing hers with his. Her heart continued its quick tattoo against her ribs, Arno's grip on her hand did little to ease her fears. He led her not to the council chamber like last time, instead he took her down a hallway to the left and stopped before a door. Two guards stood on either side.

"The Mentor is expecting us," Arno said. One of the guards nodded, and knocked briskly on the door three times.

"Enter!" Trenet called and the guard opened the door for them. Élise exhaled the breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Trenet stared at her from behind her desk, the woman's grey eyes sharp and calculating like an eagle pondering the mouse before her, curious to learn its reason for wandering into the hidden eyrie of the eagles.

Élise was a brave mouse however, and she let go of her eagle's hand and sat down opposite Trenet, though off center, so the Assassin never stared directly at her. Élise saw Trenet shift a bit in her seat; Élise kept her face neutral but secretly she smirked, pleased that she was able to unbalance the older woman. "You have summoned me?" she asked, her voice strong and she stamped her fear beneath her boot.

"Arno leave us," Trenet said, flicking her eyes over to Arno.

"Mentor, with all due respect," Arno said, "I feel—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about what you feel, I wish to speak to Grand Master de la Serre privately, now get out!"

Arno's cheeks colored, and he snapped his heels together and gave a curt bow. "Yes, Mentor." He glanced at Élise and Trenet, "I'll uh, wait outside," he mumbled before leaving. The door shut softly behind him. Élise swallowed, very aware she was in a room with the Mentor of the Assassins.

Trenet visibly relaxed. "Tea?" she asked. Élise blinked, caught completely off guard. "Or would you prefer coffee?"

"Uh…" Élise stammered. She was expecting the woman to be confrontational, unhappy that she agreed to the truce. She was one of the naysayers when Arno brought her before the council.

"I didn't poison it," Trenet added, as if that made Élise feel better. "Horrible way to start off a truce… or rather a friendship, between Templar and Assassin, if I poison the Grand Master."

"It would be an Assassin thing to do," Élise quipped, feeling comfortable as the waters shifted towards hostility. Trenet's frowned.

"It would be the Templar thing to do," she countered. Élise sighed, realizing that this tit-for-tat method would only dissolve the truce before it began.

"I'm sorry," Élise said. "Arno is truly the only Assassin I trust." She bowed her head, collected herself before looking up at the other woman. "Tea would be nice," she said, and forced a smile.

Trenet nodded, pouring from the teapot that sat upon her desk. "I'm only truly considering this because Arno spoke so… adamantly of a truce between our two sides. Though your… desire for the Apple was a bit troubling."

"I don't want the damn thing anymore," Élise said, muttering a soft thank you as she accepted the tea cup.

"Oh?" Trenet arched a brow. "And why is that?"

"It's connected to the man that murdered my father… or rather I fear it may be. Regardless, it'll be safe in Egypt." Besides, Arno is right, the Apple of Eden won't bring my father back. Trenet nodded, sipping her tea and accepting Élise's answer. Élise sipped her own, savoring the creamy taste upon her tongue.

"Well," Trenet set down her cup and folded her hands on her desk, "after much deliberation I have decided to accept your truce."

"Really?" Élise asked. "Well, that's wonderful, yet I feel there's more than just blindly accepting the terms I laid before your feet."

Trenet chuckled. "You are rather sharp witted," she smiled, "I like that."

Élise smiled. "My mother told me that a woman's beauty is only half her arsenal, the other half… the most potent half is her mind."

"Your mother must've been a wise woman," Trenet said. Élise bowed her head, nodding in agreement.

"What are your terms then?" Élise asked, pushing her tea cup around on the saucer. Sharing such intimate feelings with this woman unnerved her. A lifetime of thinking of the Assassins as the enemy was hard to erase in a few moments of conversation.

"We agree that France will remain a non-combatant zone, and with a joint disciplinary council should trouble arise that affects both Assassin and Templar," Trenet said.

"And the new terms?" Élise asked.

"We will hunt fringe members of the Order, as was the condition agreed to by your father and Mirabeau. Positions of leadership will be done as it has always been done within each order, and we retain our alliances previously established," Trenet said, "even if the nation is currently an enemy of France. The war between Assassin and Templar, extends beyond borders and the mechanics of the crown heads of world," Trenet said, "it's only fitting that we maintain such alliances."

"I see," Élise said, mulling over this new information. "I will allow you to hunt fringe members, and I will send word to you of any Templar that has broken the truce. I dislike the fact you insist on maintaining the old alliances, but," Élise held up her hand, "I understand the benefit of it, and thus I'll allow it." Gaining confidence, she set her tea cup down on the desk and gave Trenet a sharp smile. "I have yet to formally announce my ascension as Grand Master, a flaw which I plan to remedy in short order." Élise chewed her lip. "I find these terms acceptable." She looked at the other woman. "Arno and I are committed to peace between Assassin and Templar. We've proven that we can transcend our orders' dogma and rhetoric."

"Indeed," Trenet agreed. She smiled at Élise. "I accept these terms because I wish to see France heal. Continuing the inflame the war between our two sides is folly at the moment, I cannot be sure if the Mentor after me will agree," she took a sip of her tea, "plus as I said in my letter, we Assassins are fond of taking leaps of faith. I trust Arno's judgement and he vouches for you."

Élise's eyes narrowed, a smile still on her lips. "I thank you," she said, "I understand that trust on both sides must be earned through action. I look forward to working with you, Mentor Trenet."

"And I you, Grand Master de la Serre," Trenet said with a nod. "I must implore you to bring to heel your Templars, and quickly."

"I will, I plan to," Élise said. "I doubt the Templars will be giving you any trouble at the moment," Élise grimaced, "considering they are squabbling amongst themselves for my position, but that can easily escalate."

"I know. Such infight is bad for either side, though I feel Templars are more inclined towards it," Trenet said. Élise chewed her cheek, keeping her opinions to herself. "If there is nothing else, you may rejoin Arno. I'm sure he's pacing like a caged tiger on the other side of the door."

Élise gave a snort at that. "Arno knows you won't hurt me. He doesn't worry that much," she said. Trenet arched a brow. Élise bowed her head, dismissing it. "There is one thing," she said.

"Ask."

"Do you know who killed Charles Dorian?" Élise asked. Trenet let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair, head tilting up to stare at the ceiling.

"Charles death has been a great riddle for us, and we have yet to crack it." Trenet leaned forward, and stared at Élise. "He was on a mission for us, a… certain item from our American counterparts had recently arrived in France and he was to take possession of the item and deliver it to us. We would then hide or figure out how to deal with it."

"I see."

"Clearly, Haytham Kenway had an inside man, and he got to Charles before Charles could complete his mission," Trenet shook her head, "we examined Charles' body. The wound that was made matched our hidden blades. We knew Haytham Kenway possessed his father's hidden blades, but never heard of another Templar, for we assumed it was the Templars that were behind Charles' death, that had them."

"Did anyone try to find the killer?" Élise asked.

"Bellec did," Trenet said, "he tried to find Arno too. For Arno vanished from our knowledge after Charles' death. Alas, Bellec turned up empty hand on both fronts. The killer had to have Assassin training, it was the only logical conclusion as to why Charles was caught so completely off guard. We feared for a while that the killer took Arno, but upon further examination there was no evidence that Arno had been forcefully taken."

"My father took him in upon my insistence," Élise said. "I just wanted to help Arno, so I begged my father to do something. Shortly thereafter my father announced that Arno was going to be coming home with us."

"Did your father know?" Trenet asked. "What Arno was?"

"Yes. He told me too. I was sworn to secrecy of course," Élise said. I was also told to bring him over to the Templar side, but I never did. "One last question."

"Of course," Trenet said.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Shay Patrick Cormac?" Élise asked.

"No… wait," Trenet said, "I have. Mirabeau got a message from Achilles in '57 I think, saying that one of his Assassins had gone rogue, mentioned the name Cormac, I think. Why?"

"Because," Élise said, lifting her head, "Shay Patrick Cormac murdered Charles Dorian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> After suffering from a bad case of writer's block, I finally get my muse back and we can continue to move forward. :D
> 
> I know what I want, I know what's going to happen. I hope you guys stay tune for the next chapter and those beyond. I have lots in store: Shay, Marie, weddings, babies.
> 
> I'm personally fond of the mouse/Templar eagle/assassin symbolism in this chapter. Not that Élise is mousey, it's just that eagles eat mice and Assassins hunt Templars. :P
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


	15. Bricks and Cobblestones

Trenet sat up straight, leaning forward, her hands flat against her desk. Élise swallowed, unnerved by the intense look in the woman's eye. "Shay Patrick Cormac?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Élise said, "he… apparently, met with my father that same night. I didn't find out until recently, when I found my father's journal."

"I see," Trenet said. "Well, we have a name. I'll have to start looking into the matter." Trenet paused, eyeing Élise. "Have you told Arno?"

Élise's heart sank. She looked at her knees, unable to meet the woman's gaze. She hadn't even begun to ponder how she'll broche the subject with Arno. "No," Élise said, "I haven't. I'm unsure how to tell him."

"I could tell him," Trenet said, "I will keep you out of it, say we got word from a distant alley—"

"No," Élise said, looking up at Trenet, "he should hear it from me. I owe him that much. If I haven't…" Élise stopped. "No," she said, "it's my cross to bear. I do not bear it gladly, but I will bear it." Élise got up from her chair, inclined her head respectfully towards Trenet, and headed to the door.

Trenet said, "A word of advice, Grand Master?"

"Anything," Élise said.

"There is no easy way to tell him something like that. I've had to inform… I'm no stranger of telling others how their loved one is now dead," Trenet looked away, "I know that feeling all too well in fact," she fixed her gaze back to Élise, "it's best if you just rip it off, like a scab."

"Thank you for the advice," Élise said, and opened the door. Arno was indeed waiting for her outside, pacing like a caged tiger. He stopped when he saw her, a relieved look spreading across his face, and then he smiled.

"I see you're still alive," he quipped. Élise chuckled, walking passed him. He fell in step besides her.

"Was there every any doubt?" she asked. Arno chuckled, shaking head.

"No," he said, smiling, "I knew you'd fight tooth and nail."

Élise flashed him a smile as they exited the Sanctuary, heading towards the street level. They reached the street and vanished amongst the Parisian crowd. Élise glanced about, realizing Arno was no longer by her side. She swallowed, until a hand slipped into hers and he was there. "So," she began, leading him to nowhere in particular, "what do you feel like doing today?"

"Uh… well, we did skip breakfast," Arno said, "I would like to eat something."

Élise gave Arno a saucy smirk; a knowing twinkle in her eye. "I didn't hear you complain about missing breakfast earlier."

Arno chuckled, pulling her close. His lips pressed against her ear and he whispered, "how could I? When I had your naughty mouth around my cock." He squeezed her ass, a smirk on his lips.

"Arno!" Élise teased, mock offense in her tone. Arno chuckled again, weaving through the crowds, her hand still grasped in his. "And what would you like for breakfast?" Élise asked.

Arno looked at her, a hungry look in his eyes. "I can think of one thing."

Élise's felt her cheeks color before she walked passed him, stepping on his foot as she did so; a look of utter serenity on her face. She smirked when she heard him mutter _ow_ , before she looked over her shoulder at him. "I meant what type of food you want, not what amorous activity you wish to part take in tonight, Arno."

Arno grumbled, as he fell in step besides her. "I don't mind, anywhere sounds good," Arno said. Élise gave a nod, then frowned. She reached up and yanked his hood off. "Élise!" Arno protested, pulling his hood back on.  
"Leave it down, Arno," she said, "you're so intimidating when you wear it and you aren't doing… anything, you're spending time with me. There is no need for you to wear it."

Arno sighed, lowering his hood. "Alright," he said, "if you insist."

"I like seeing my fiancé's face," Élise said. Arno bowed his head, wishing he had his hood up to hide the tinting of his cheeks. "Besides aren't Assassins supposed to hide in plain sight?" Arno rolled his eyes, chuckling.

* * *

They entered a small café and took a corner table. Arno angled the chair out so he could watch the people walk about the café. They gave the waitress their order, she smiled and left, leaving them alone. Élise watched Arno, who slouched against the back of the chair, his right hand on his thigh, his left on the table, fingers drumming the surface as they waited. The shock of hair on his right side fell forward again, and he tucked it back, a well ingrained habit.

"What did you and Trenet talk about?" Arno asked. Élise looked up at him, he wasn't looking at her, instead he was observing. Élise knew he already had at least three escape plans mapped out in case trouble arouse. He knew the streets of Paris better than she did. She took his hand, to quiet his drumming fingers.

"The truce. We reworked the conditions," Élise said, resting his hand in hers, her other one tracing the contours of his palm. She saw a palm reader once, when she was a girl at a fair her parents took her too. The old gypsy woman said she was going to have a timeless romance yet also die terribly young. Élise remembered her mother telling her that fortunetelling was an ignorant person's way of lessening the fear of the unknown.

Élise wondered what the gypsy woman would say about Arno's palm. His fingers had thick callouses from climbing, though beneath his little finger was a blister. She poked it, and he winced. "Got that a few days ago," he told her when she looked up at him, "climbing without gloves, wasn't use to it."

"Oh." Élise nodded, going back to tracing his hand. A killer's hands, yet Arno had such gentle hands, especially during their love making. "Arno." He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face. "I… there's something I need to tell you."

Arno shifted his chair around to better face her, sitting up a bit straighter. He took one of her hands in both of his and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "What is it?"

Élise sighed, looking away, suddenly unsure if she should tell him. He looked content for once, as if there was no burden on his shoulders. She didn't want to ruin it. _Sometimes you just need to rip the scab off._ Trenet had told her, and Élise knew the older woman was right. If she kept this information from Arno, the secrecy will only fester. She hated secrets, yet hoarded them like a dragon hoards gold. "It's… I found out something about your father," Élise said. Arno stiffened, his attention fixed on her. _There's no going back now, Élise._ She grabbed his hands, taking comfort in his strength. "The man that killed your father… was a Templar. His name is Shay Patrick Cormac."

"And here is your breakfast, monsieur and mademoiselle," the waitress said as she set down the plates. She added a pitcher of coffee, with a small pitcher for milk and a bowl of sugar. She smiled at them and Élise smiled back, willing the waitress to walk away. The woman did, humming a song as she did so. Élise let go of Arno's hands, and began to devour her breakfast. Élise looked up from her food, watching as Arno's face crumbled. Rage, frustration, sadness, all dancing on his face as he remembered that horrible day eighteen years ago. Élise swallowed. "Arno?" she asked, worry cooling her gut.

He stared at the floor for several long moments, a deep frown appearing on his face. "How long?" Arno asked, his voice soft and laced with his anger. Élise watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands, struggling to keep his emotions under control. "How long have you known his name, Élise?" Arno forced out. Élise finished smearing strawberry jam on her croissant, though she remained silent. "How _long_!"

"Not long, a week maybe," she muttered, setting down her knife. "I found out when I went back to my father… well, my townhouse, after Franciade. I found my father's journal, and an entry dated to that day and my father spoke with Shay Patrick Cormac."

"Your father knew?" Arno leaned forward, his breakfast forgotten.

"Yes," Élise said, licking her lips. "He did. Met with Shay Cormac that evening… Arno I swear to you, I didn't know. My father never told me. I found out recently."

"And he never once bothered to tell me the name of my father's killer? Even though he knew the entire time I lived there?"

"Arno, be reasonable. You were an eight-year-old boy, what could you have possibly done if he told you?" Élise asked, setting her croissant on her plate.

"I could've hit him!" Arno snapped. He glanced away before focusing his attention on her again. "At least I'd have his name! At least I could track him once I became an Assassin, so I could avenge my father."

"Arno," Élise said, her tone serious, "revenge doesn't solve anything. Germain is dead, but my father is still dead, and I still feel the pain of his death and I still hate Germain with every fiber of my being."

"Hypocrite."

"Excuse me?" she asked, shocked.

"You heard me," Arno snarled. "You're a hypocrite if you expect me to sit idly by and not do anything about Cormac," he leaned forward, "not after the crucible I went through to help you kill Germain."

"Arno, please," she said, grabbing his hand, "don't make the same mistake I did," she squeezed his fingers, "Please I love you. I can't bear to see you become consumed by your anger and revenge."

He didn't pull his hand away from her touch nor did he return the gesture. "I'm starting to wonder if everything wasn't a Templar plot from the beginning," he looked at her.

Élise frowned, confusion furrowing her brow. "Arno, what are you talking about?"

"I mean, you had _conveniently_ arrived and lured me away from that spot and when I got back my father was dead. How do I know your father and Cormac weren't in league to murder mine? He was an Assassin, yours was the Templar Grand Master, it makes sense."

"Arno," Élise growled, "you are being utterly ridiculous! My father didn't know Cormac, let alone that he was going to be there. _I_ didn't know." She looked at him, a pleading look on her face. "I saw a bored and lonely boy that day and I thought maybe… maybe you'd like to play with me." Arno looked away. Élise swallowed, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Please Arno, believe me when I say neither I nor my father knew that your father was going to die that day, that Shay Cormac was going to be there."

He glared at her, before he pulled his hand away, sliding it across the table and back into his lap. Élise straightened then, watching as Arno's anger melted like snow in spring, and she spotted the instant the shift in him occurred. The spark in his eyes, the light he held within him, vanished. It happened as calmly as someone closing a door. One moment it was there, the next gone. "Arno, do you believe me?" Élise asked. Arno remained silent, not looking at her. "Arno?"

"What?" Arno asked, snapping out of his thoughts, then he stared at her. "Yes," he said, his voice monotone. "Yes, I believe you."

Élise frowned, sighing a little. "Arno, I'm sorry," Élise said, "I know… I know it hurts, but please don't—"

"Can we talk about this later, Élise?" he asked, "I'm fine." He gave her a brittle forced smile.

Élise stared at him before finishing her croissant. "No, you're not fine, Arno," Élise insisted. "You were ready to storm out of here a moment ago, now you're… it's like you don't even care. Please, Arno—"

"I don't want to talk about this."

She pouted. "Fine," she huffed, she eyed his untouched food, "are you going to finish your croissant?"

He gave a quizzical frown, finding his appetite suddenly gone. "Have it," he said and shoved the plate over towards her. She brightened a little, taking it and smearing strawberry jelly over the buttery pastry. "You normally don't eat much at breakfast."

"I know, though lately I have," she said around a mouthful. She looked at the half eaten croissant and offered the uneaten half to him. He shook his head. He instead reached for the milk and sugar, adding them to his coffee, before drinking it. Élise fixed her coffee, took a sip and made a face at the taste. "Alright," she said in a tone of disgust, "no coffee for me."

Arno arched a brow at the statement, and Élise noticed that he had barely drunk his own coffee. "Do you want to order another croissant?" Arno asked. Élise chewed her lip, thinking about it.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think we should go, actually," she said.

"You go," Arno insisted. Élise furrowed her brows, watching as he stood. "I'm going to… walk around, I need…" he rubbed his forehead, "to clear my head."

"Alright," she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing his fingers. He stroked hers with his thumb before walking off. She watched him leave the café and felt dread coiling in her gut. Sighing Élise paid for their breakfast before getting up and leaving herself.

* * *

She reached the Café Théâtre in short order, having memorized the quickest route back. The café was busy with the hustle and bustle of the coming lunch rush; the troupe was performing _Hamlet_. Normally, Élise would watch part of the play, as it was her favorite but today she couldn't as she had more pressing matters to attend to. She walked passed the café and into the residential wing on the lower floor, passed the bookkeeper's office and into the small guestroom where Weatherall was staying. "Élise," he greeted with a smile.

"Mr. Weatherall," she replied curtly and she stood for just a moment before pacing. "I need to establish what I currently have available to me."

"You have no allies. I've sent letters to those loyal to the de la Serre name that could possibly still be alive, but I'm not holding my breath," Weatherall said. "The order itself is in disarray, thanks to you and Arno killing Germain and all of his inner circle."

"There is something else you aren't telling me," Élise said, pausing to stare at her mentor. "What is it?"

"The de la Serre family is bloody broke," Weatherall said, "not a livre in your family's coffers to shake a stick at, let alone the coffers of the order."

"What?" Élise hissed, turning to face her mentor. "That's impossible! That can be true… it just… no. I refuse to believe."

"Believe it girl," Weatherall said, he looked up when the door opened, to reveal Helene coming in with a tray laden with muffins, cups and a teapot. "Thank you Helene."

"Oh, don't mention it Mr. Weatherall," Helene said, beaming. "Do you want some tea too Mademoiselle Élise… or should I call you Madame Dorian?"

Élise snorted. "Hardly, Arno and I haven't married yet," Élise said, tersely.

"Well, I think Arno is a rather fine man, very easy on the eyes," Helene said, fixing Weatherall his tea and handing it to him. She fixed a cup for Élise. "If I may be so bold."

"Yes," Élise preened a little bit, "he is handsome, I love him," Élise said, accepting the cup of tea, "I'm glad Arno is mine."

Helene flushed, bobbing her head with a smile. "And to think you're going to marry him soon," Helene sighed wistfully, "if only I was as lucky as you, Mademoiselle Élise."

"Thank you," Élise said, "and… I'm sure you'll find someone Helene." She sipped her tea, enjoying the sweetness of the sugar upon her tongue. "I'm going to have to get used to being _Élise Dorian_ soon."

"Only publically," Weatherall said. "I advise you to continue using de la Serre for Order business and your soon-to-be married name for public business."

"Yes," Élise said with a nod, "that's a good idea." Élise sighed draining her tea in a few quick gulps, ignoring the burn of the hot liquid down her throat. "Money, allies, an ascension ceremony and following celebration… anything else?"

"An heir," Weatherall said. "You'll need to either produce an heir yourself or select a junior member of the order once it's established to groom for the position. You _need_ someone to succeed you, Élise."

"A child," Élise mumbled, "Mr. Weatherall…" she sighed, "Freddie, I'm not ready to be a mother."

"I'm not telling you to pop out a child _now_ , Élise," Weatherall huffed, puffing out his cheeks in annoyance. "I'm saying, eventually you _will_ need to decide on who is to succeed you, and if you want to the de la Serres to continue to maintain control of the Templar Order, especially if you want this peace to last after you're gone, you will need to consider a blood relation as your successor instead of someone else."

"Yes," Élise nodded, "I understand."

"Besides," Weatherall said, waving his cup, "I'm sure Arno will be _more_ than willing to help you in that department."

"I believe that'll be the _only_ thing Arno will help me with at the moment," Élise sneered, she sat down in a nearby chair and rubbed her forehead, letting out a tired sigh. "Helene, get me some wine."

"Wine?" Helene asked. Élise nodded.

"Yes, wine. I want some wine," Élise sighed, her thoughts drifting to Arno and his outburst in the café earlier. She felt hurt, betrayed even, by his reaction. She didn't understand why. Helene swallowed before leaving to fetch the desired beverage.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to be drinking this early?" Weatherall asked. Élise shot him a glare.

"I'm having _a glass_ of wine, Mr. Weatherall," Élise snapped. "One glass." She gave Weatherall a beatific smile, "besides I'm an adult and the Templar Grand Master and if I want to have wine in the afternoon I can damn well have wine in the afternoon and bugger to all the naysayers."

"Élise," Weatherall sighed, "it's because you are Grand Master that I advise against drinking in the middle of the afternoon."

"I want some wine, Mr. Weatherall," Élise growled, only to look away. Élise set her teacup aside and hid her face in her hands. "I… I can't do this without him… doesn't he understand I need him, too? Just as much as he needs me?"

"He'll come back," Weatherall said, "Arno needs you more than you need him, at any rate."

"Mr. Weatherall," Élise sighed. "I—"

" _Élise!_ " a voice called, though it was muffled by the door. There was the thudding sound of hurried feet and the door flung open moments later. "Élise!" Arno shouted, bracing himself against the door frame. Élise got up to meet him and she gave him a warm little smile, but she noticed that it took him several moments to focus on her and she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. It broke her heart to realize that he had been drinking.

 _So much for walking to clear your head, eh, Arno?_ Élise thought bitterly. "Yes, Arno?"

"You told Trenet!" he blurted, slamming his fist against the door frame. "You told Trenet about Cormac before me!"

"I did."

"Why?" Arno asked, he stalked towards her. Élise swallowed backing up as she did so. "Why would you do that when you _knew_ I've always wanted to know who killed my father!" Arno slammed his fist down on a nearby table; Élise watched as her tea cup shattered against the floor.

"I wanted to know if the Assassins already knew who killed your father _and_ if they did _why_ they haven't told you," Élise said, "that's why I told Trenet before you, Arno. It wasn't personal."

"You still told her before me," Arno said, jabbing his finger against her chest. "I've wanted to know who killed him since I was eight!" Arno grabbed her by her shoulders. "Why did you betray me, Élise! Why?" He shook her with each word.

Élise stiffened in Arno's grip; she heard Weatherall scramble for his crutches. She took a step back, breaking his hold on her, and told Arno to stop. He ignored her and continued to yell at her. She didn't comprehend what he was saying, "Arno stop it!" she shouted when he reached for her again shoved him back. He staggered, losing his balance before he landed with a heavy thump on his butt. His hand right hand landed in the shards of the tea cup, cutting his palm and index finger. He stared at her baffled and she saw the moment his anger broke in his eyes.

"Shit," Arno muttered, pulling his hand away. Élise gave a little gasp upon the sight of his injury.

"I'm sorry Arno," she said, closing the gap between them and stooping to help him. "Arno, let me see your hand."

"Don't you think you've done enough?" he spat, and tried to get up. He swore, when he realized he had put his hand back into the broken porcelain. Élise reached for him again. He yanked his arm away. "I can get up on my own," he growled, bitter. He got to his feet, wobbling as he did so. He sucked at the wound as he walked off. Élise frowned, her heart heavy as she watched him leave.

Élise felt tears prick her eyes, wondering what had happened between her and Arno. She refused to believe that their disagreement over the Apple and the separation that followed had led to their relationship deteriorating to the point Arno would get drunk enough that hitting her would cross his mind. "Élise?" Weatherall asked. Élise sniffed, turning to face her mentor but she caught the flash of silver as he tucked his throwing knife back into his jacket. "Are you—"

"Were you going to throw that at him?" Élise asked, taking a step towards Weatherall.

"Élise, let me explain—"

"No," Élise snapped, "you were going to throw a _knife_ at Arno! My fiancé and an Assassin! In case you've forgotten Mr. Weatherall, I have a truce with the Assassins and considering you are the _only_ Templar under my command, it would look very bad if you happened to kill Arno."

"I would have only acted if he struck you," Weatherall said.

Élise gave him a disbelieving look. "Struck me? _Struck me_? Mr. Weatherall, Arno would rather chop his arm off before he would _ever_ hit me."

"Really?" Weatherall said, "Then I hope his actions he _just_ displayed were a fluke."

"Trust me," Élise said, "it was. He isn't like that." Élise looked away, before returning her gaze to Weatherall. "I know you've only heard my stories of Arno, but he _is_ a good man. He loves me so much," Élise glanced at her feet before looking up again, "and I love him."

"Yes, he loves you, but he was clearly drunk," Weatherall pointed out, "and as your protector—"

"I don't need a protector!" Élise shouted. Weatherall's face fell, and Élise lifted her head to the ceiling. "Mr. Weatherall… Freddie," she began coming to sit next to him.

"I am your protector, Élise… your parents entrusted your safety to me… I can't… I can't fail them…" he muttered. "Can't fail Julie."

Élise sighed, hugging him. She smiled a little when he returned the gesture. "What I mean, is that I don't need you to protect me from everything. I _know_ Arno. I know him better than myself sometimes."

"Yes," Weatherall agreed, "I should learn to trust your judgement when it comes to him."

"Yes," Élise said, "you should." She looked up when the door opened to reveal Helene holding the requested glass of wine.

"I got the glass of wine, Mademoiselle Élise," Helene chimed. Élise gave Helene a tired smile.

"Helene, I'm afraid I require a bottle now."

* * *

The following week and a half was a struggle for Élise, between the demands of rebuilding her order, working with Trenet to solidify the finer points of the truce between Assassin and Templar, and her constant tiredness, she didn't have time to worry about the growing distance between her and Arno. She ignored the fact that he came to bed later and later each night; that each night the stink of wine was on his breath, and increasingly hers as well.

Weatherall cautioned her against the drinking, but she ignored him. Every morning she'd tried to talk to Arno, but he would brush her off, saying he was fine or that they'll talk about it later. There never was a later.

Roughly eleven days after she told him who killed his father, he allowed her to look at his injured hand. The cut ran from the center of his palm to second knuckle on his right hand. She was surprised it wasn't deep enough to need stitches. It was healing nicely though.

"You're drunk again," she commented, she stopped drinking this morning, since what Helene told her had reverberated in her head, in fact Helene's hypothesis made sense when she stopped to think about it. The wine was starting to be unhelpful against the amounting stress she was feeling lately. She touched the cut. Arno winced, muttering his discomfort and tried to pull his hand away but her grip held. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Arno muttered, he didn't look at her, instead he looked out the window, watching the moon.

"Arno," Élise began, calling his attention back to her. His beard had gotten thicker; he'd been neglecting himself lately. "Drinking won't… drinking won't make whatever is eating you go away."

"I know."

"Then… please stop," Élise said. "Please, tell me what's bothering you. I'll listen. I want to help you, Arno." She finished inspecting his wound.

"And why should I believe you, when I know you've been drinking just as much as I have?" he asked, glaring at her.

"Because despite our flaws, I do want to help you," Élise looked away, "Arno, I don't like this distance between us; we need to talk."

"Well, talk then," he groused, as he stood up and pulled his shirt off. He sniffed it, made a face and tossed it over by the tub where the bucket and washboard were kept. He flexed his shoulders, and Élise couldn't help by admire the way his muscles moved beneath his skin.

"Alright," Élise said, tucking her feet beneath her as she sat on the bed, watching him stretch. She sat there, trying to figure out what to say; the silence began to get uncomfortable. _Helene thinks I might be pregnant. I love you, I miss you. I miss our closeness, your smile, your touch, your warmth… I miss all of you Arno. Please open up to me._ Élise swallowed, she wanted to tell him all of it, her mind was racing and she was unable to string the words together.

Arno stopped his toe-touching, though he didn't straighten. Instead he merely looked over his shoulder at her. "I thought you wanted to talk?"

Élise nodded. "I do," she gave a hollow laugh. "I just don't know what to say," Élise rubbed her face, "I can't… I just…" Élise sighed, "I miss you."

"Miss me?" Arno asked, straightening and throwing his arms open, "I haven't gone anywhere Élise. How could you miss me?"

"Arno you've been distant," Élise said, "very distant. I don't know if you realize this, but it's hurting those around you. People that _care_ about you and love you. It's hurting me."

Arno blinked, arms falling to his side. He bowed his head and gave a small nod before coming over to her. He sat on the bed with a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't realize I was being distant."

"Well you have," Élise said, "you've been avoiding me, and you've been drinking more and more."

Arno frowned, not liking her sudden anger. "I'm sorry," Arno snapped, "I didn't know I need your permission, Mademoiselle de la Serre, to drink my pain away as I relive my father's murder. _Next_ time I'll make sure to ask you first."

Élise grounded her teeth. "Arno—"

"And you're surely one to lecture me on drinking, Élise. Considering I smelled wine on your breath after I escaped the Bastille. Not to mention the empty wine bottles littering your father's villa. Tell me Élise, after you found out that Germain was behind your father's death, did you drink?"

"Are you calling me a hypocrite?" Élise gasped, she flexed her hands, struggling to not slap him.

"Yes," he hissed, "that's exactly what I'm calling you."

"Forgive me then," she spat, "for trying to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I did. Forgive me for trying to convince you to not go down the same path I did."

Arno stared at her, a deep frown etching into his face. Words escaped him, anger preventing him from saying anything.

Élise sighed, "I… going after revenge is the worst mistake I ever made. I should've listened to Weatherall, accepted Germain as the new Grand Master and plotted my own coup. _I_ don't want you to make the same mistake as I did."

"I'm not like you, Élise," Arno said.

"You know, Arno," Élise said, a mocking laugh escaping her lips, "I am still so angry and so hurt, by what Germain did. I want to kill Germain over and over and over again. I _hate_ him. More than I've ever hated anything or anyone in my entire life. Germain's dead, but so is my father. I try to pretend I'm over it, I try to forget it, but it's still there Arno. Still raw and fresh and I just… want to hurt something! Five years and the pain still hasn't gone away, and it's only been a month since Germain was killed and I still want to kill him." Élise closed her eyes and looked away, her shoulders dropping, her hands twisting about in her lap. "I just… don't want to see you succumb to that darkness."

Arno stared at her for several moments, fumbling for words. "I…" he stopped, licked his lips, and hesitantly reached for her before withdrawing his hand. He waited a few moments before reaching for her again, his hand falling on top of hers. "Élise," he said, drawing her attention to him, "I'm sorry."

"Well you should be," Élise hissed, pulling her hands free from Arno. "Acting like I've done this to you. Treating me like I don't even care, like I'm preventing you from fulfilling something. You don't even care about what I've been going through, seeing you slowly destroy yourself," she rubbed her forehead, looking away from him. "It doesn't help Helene has this insane notion that I'm pregnant. Early signs my foot. I'm just stressed and I forget to eat so I'm hungry more often and my cycle must be coming up since my breasts _always_ get tender during my cycle. I have to find Templars that are loyal to me and eliminate the discourse that is still among them and plan an ascension ceremony—"

"Wait," Arno said, touching Élise's shoulder and drawing her gaze back to him. "You're pregnant?" a tiny smile threatened to break free.

Élise scowled. "Of course I'm not pregnant Arno! Were you listening? I'm stressed, I forget to eat, and when my cycle comes my breasts get tender. Helene is just being illogical!" She huffed, looking at him. "Besides you pull out right?"

"Uuh…" he glanced away, cheeks tinting, "a-about that…"

"You know what, it doesn't matter, _because_ I would know if I'm pregnant and I'm not."

"Uh… alright," Arno muttered, sounding a bit awkward. Élise rubbed her face with her hands. She didn't want to deal with this anymore. It was clear Arno wasn't ready to talk and it was pointless trying to force him to open up when he wasn't ready. She squeaked when he pulled her into a hug, mussing her hair with his nose.

"I'm sorry," he said, sincerity in his voice. "Truly I am. I didn't… I was so caught up in my own misery that I didn't realize I was making you miserable too."

Élise twisted around and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his neck. "I know," she whispered. "It just hurts me to see you going down the same path I did and knowing how much pain I cause you," she pressed a kiss to his throat, "I don't want you to do that, I don't want to relive a revenge quest again. I want to protect you, Arno."

"Élise, I'm an Assassin," Arno chuckled, "I can protect myself."

She pulled back then, hands resting on his shoulders to look up at him. "I know! I know you're an Assassin and are able to protect yourself, but damn it, Arno, I love you! I'm selfish but I wanted to keep you out of this war, because you're… you don't belong and—"

He silenced her with a kiss. They broke apart, staring at each other. He stroked her cheek. "Now you know how I felt," he whispered, "watching you go after Germain with such reckless abandon."

"I do," she agreed, "what do you plan to do know?"

"Sleep," he said, a half-smile on his face.

"I meant about Cormac," Élise restated. Arno gave a ragged sigh, looking about the room before settling his gaze on her again.

"Wait, I guess, for Trenet to get word from the other Brotherhoods. It's all I can do, I would like to go after him, but I have no idea where he is," Arno said, "it's better if I just wait. As infuriating as it is."

"And your father?" Élise asked. Arno's face darkened and Élise swallowed. "You know what," she said hastily, "never mind." She offered him a smile and squeezed his hand. "Let's get some sleep. It's been a long night and I'm tired."

"Yes," he agreed, "let's." Élise smiled as they crawled into bed, Arno's arms wrapping around her stomach, his warm breath fanning across her neck. She prayed he'll be there when she woke.

* * *

Élise woke to the sound of someone tapping on the glass the next day. She sighed, snuggling deeper into the blankets. She felt a weight around her waist and someone pressed up against her. She blinked open her eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. Arno was still besides her, fast asleep. _He did stay… he did._ She thought with a smile. He had of late gotten up before her and vanished all day. Élise leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

The tapping on the window continued. Grumbling, she slipped free of Arno's warm embrace. Shivering she slipped a robe on and went to the window. Élise frowned when she saw it was Ruddock. She opened the window though she bared him entrance. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Mademoiselle Élise," Ruddock said in lieu of greeting. Élise scowled at him, though dread coiled in her gut. He had found something; it was the only explanation as to why he was back. He held up a folded piece of paper between his fingers. She snatched it from him. She turned so the side so that her body was facing him, and quickly skimmed the note.

_Cimetière des Saints Innocents, midnight tonight. Come alone._

"Who gave this to you?" Élise asked. Ruddock puffed out his cheeks, eyes darting apart. "Ruddock, tell me who gave this to you."

"I don't know," he said, a tremble in his voice. "Look, you told me to come back when I found something. I have, that note clearly was written by someone plotting—"

"This note," Élise shook the note before Ruddock's face, "is unsigned! It proves nothing!" Élise hissed, giving him a little push. The man staggered. "I need names Ruddock! Not mysterious notes. I told you to gather a list of names! Not give me an unsigned note."

"You promised to uphold your end of the bargain," Ruddock squeaked, taking a step towards her, trying to be braver than what he really was. "I expect you to keep your end of the bargain."

"And I will," Élise said, trying to assert herself and prevent Ruddock from entering the room. "But first you need to get me names. Giving me mysterious notes is not a part of the deal, Ruddock," Élise held up the note again, "now, who gave this to you."

"I told you Mademoiselle," Ruddock said, "I don't know."

"Need I remind you that I saved your life… _twice_ ," Élise hissed, she watched as Ruddock's Adam's apple bobbed with his nervous swallow. "Now, do you have more information for me?"

"Please, that's all I know about the note," Ruddock said. Élise watched as his eyes darted about.

"Don't lie to me Ruddock," Élise hissed, "I know there is more to it. You saw who gave you the note, now tell me!" Élise grabbed Ruddock by the label of his coat and shook him. She was shaking, she couldn't have traitors within her order. She couldn't have someone stab her in the back. She refused to die like her father, betrayed by those he trusted. "How did you get the note in the first place, Ruddock?" she asked, the man whimpered. "Need I remind you that me upholding my end of the bargain is heavily dependent on you delivering me valuable information that I can use!" Élise pointed out and shook him again. "Now, tell me what you know!"

"A-A man!" Ruddock squeaked. "I didn't see his face! Just appeared, ou-out of the darkness, like a shadow. Gave me the note, t-told me to give it to you."

"What else?"

"A-A Lady Eve," Ruddock said, smiling a little bit, "he told me to tell you that a Lady Eve—"

"Who are you?" Arno said, suddenly appearing by her side. Élise gave a little gasp, unaware that Arno had gotten up and joined her and Ruddock. Ruddock on the other hand was eyeing the gleaming steel of Arno's hidden blade, the tip resting against his throat. Arno arched a brow and pressed the blade in a bit further.

"C-Could ask th-the same of you," Ruddock said, he licked his lips and gave a weak laugh. "Ruddock, you?"

"Arno Dorian," Arno said, "now, kindly tell my fiancée what she wants to know." He pressed the blade in some more, drawing a bead of ruby blood.

"He just said to pass on that Lady Eve sends their regards," Ruddock stammered, "that's it! That's all I know! I swear to god, Mademoiselle… Monsieur."

Élise huffed, shoving Ruddock away. The man stumbled over his own feet, landing in an undignified heap in the courtyard. Arno brushed passed her, and roughly helped Ruddock to his feet. "If I ever see you threatening my fiancée again, it'll be a very bad day for you, understand?" Arno asked. "And if you fear Élise," Arno gave a smirk, "fear me more."

"Y-Yes, of course monsieur!" Ruddock stammered. He freed himself from Arno's grip and bid a hasty exit.

"A worm that's grown a spine is nothing more than a snake," Arno muttered. Élise smiled when he reached her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Élise insisted, tugging him into the room so she could close the window. He gave her a little smile, before pulling her close.

"Who was he?"

"Bernard Ruddock, a former Assassin from the British Brotherhood," Élise said, "I've saved his life twice, so he owes me two lift debts."

"Ah." Arno stared off into the night. "Élise?"

"Yes?"

"Is there a reason why Ruddock knows where we live?" Arno asked, turning to look at her.

Élise flushed, looking away. She scratched at her ankle with her foot. "I… I may have told him I'd be staying here upon our last meeting before Germain's death," Élise looked up at Arno, "He's not here to kill me or anyone else. He's just an informant."

"Élise, he's dangerous. I don't trust him."

Élise grabbed his hands, holding them tightly. "And neither do I," she agreed, "but he's been useful so far. I have no plans to keep my end of the bargain and once he's outlived his usefulness I will kill him. He tried to kill my mother when I was little. I won't let that go unanswered."

"I still worry," Arno muttered.

Élise smiled, cupped his face and placed a kiss gently on his lips. "Marriage is about trust, Arno. Trust me to know that I know what I'm doing."

"I can do that," he chuckled, pulling his head free and taking her in his arms again. "Come, let's get back to bed. I haven't… I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"And who's fault is that?" Élise asked, pulling away from him. She grabbed Arno's hand, leading him to the bed.

"Mine." Arno hung his head, stopping and pulling her to a halt. He gave a little tug and she came stumbling into his arms. Élise felt her heart quicken as she watched his eyes lower and a smirk spread across his face. "You're beautiful," he whispered. Élise laughed softly, pecking his lips.

"Thank you," she mumbled, "you're handsome, too, you know."

"Well, I'll take your word for it," he teased, freeing her from his embrace. "You'll always be beautiful to me." He crossed the room to their bed, crawling in first and holding the covers open invitingly.

"Flattery gets you nowhere Arno," Élise cautioned playfully as she crawled into bed, "remember that." She sighed content, when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Mmm," he kissed her throat, "I'll try."

"Arno," Élise giggled, when his hand slipped between her thighs. She gave a little gasp, when his fingers brushed her soft folds. "What are you plotting?"

"Well, I never did return the favor you gave me," he said, maneuvering himself into position. "It's high time you collect the debt, no?" he gave her a smirk. Élise laughed, and yanked Arno by his hair so he'll look at her.

"Yes, of course," she said, "but first Arno, I want you to come with me tonight."

"To where?"

"Cimetière des Saints Innocents, at midnight," Élise said. "The note said to come alone but it's unsigned and this Lady Eve… well, I don't trust whomever Lady Eve is."

Arno pulled his hair free of her grip, leaned forward and pecked her lips. "Of course I'll come. They won't even know I'm there. Assassin, remember."

Élise chuckled. "Hide in plain sight."

"Exactly," he said, "now, lean back and let me pleasure you."

* * *

A light insistent rain pattered down around them. Fog coiled around the grey headstones, a chill seeping into their bones that was unnatural for late August. In the distance Arno could hear the shouts and cheers of the Revolution continuing. France was beginning to heal, yet he wondered if the bloodshed would ever stop. He shivered from the rain that soaked into his coat. Arno looked at Élise who was standing in an open section of the graveyard, fingers drumming on the hilt of her sword. He was hidden in the shadows of one of the mausoleums.

Arno sighed, squinting, the auras of his second sight springing to brilliant life. Élise's aura glowed a soft gold, though she was the only one in the bone orchard. He blinked, dispelling the aura around her, though the soft golden glow lingered for a few heartbeats. He looked about, the boneyard was quiet, too quiet. He didn't like it yet he dare not go to Élise in fear that whomever she was to meet would spot him.

They continued to wait in the cold rain. Arno blew on his hands to keep his fingers warm. The clock struck one, the bell knolling out the hour, still no contact, no Lady Eve. Arno slipped out of the mausoleum's shadow and walked up to Élise. "Where are they?" He asked, worried.

"I don't know," Élise said, rubbing her arms against the cold. "This better not be a trap."

"Something isn't right," Arno said, glancing around. He drew his sword, a tingle at the back of his spine, a growing unease in the dark, a whisper in the shadows… _danger… beware…_

A man stepped out from between the shadows of the graveyard, hefting an axe, two more came with polearms, another with a nasty looking cudgel, four with swords. Eight men, nasty smiles upon all their faces, and bloodlust darkling in their eyes. "Clearly," Élise drew her sword, "I've been double-crossed," Élise snarled. Arno took a step backward, his back pressing up against Élise's. The odds were against them, two against eight, and who knew how many more lurked in the shadows. They'll never be able to fight their way out.

"Élise stick close to me," he whispered, "I have a plan," and he grabbed two flashbangs and a smoke bomb. He glanced at her over his shoulder, saw her nod.

The ringleader looked at Élise, that man-eater grin on his face. "Lady Eve toldja to come alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft 
> 
> I know Cimetière des Saints Innocents is technically gone by 1794 (which we are in), but it was the only cemetery that's famous from the 18th Century I could find. All the other famous Paris cemeteries were founded in the 19th Century. So, I took a bit of artistic liberty and fudged the Cemetery's date a bit.
> 
> With school, bouts of melancholy, and trying to figure out how best to edit this chapter, I said fuck it and just pretty much rewrote the entire damn thing since the previous chapter forces my hand to give up saving any of what I had originally wrote.
> 
> It is all for the best though as I'm committed to giving Arno and Élise the story they deserve post-Unity. I suffer gladly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> (Like seriously, people you can take two minutes to leave me five sentences. That's a paragraph. That's all I'm asking. Not that hard.)
> 
> Nemo et Nihil


	16. Lullabies and Memories

The ringleader looked at Élise, that man-eater grin on his face. "Lady Eve toldja to come alone."

Élise bared her teeth in a vicious smile, hefting her blade. She could feel the rise and fall of Arno's back against hers as they studied the men about them. They were out-numbered, with no possible way to fight their way through and survive. She hoped Arno had a plan. One of the swordsmen shouted, lunging at them and Élise brought her blade up in a parry. The metal sang its metallic song, lightning splitting the sky asunder as the rain came down harder, her red hair plastered against her clammy rain soaked skin. She took a step back, Arno moving forward, his blade singing.

The eight men fell upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves. They wove and duck, dodged and evaded their blows, but there was too many of them, all with that man-eater grin upon their faces. Élise thrust her sword, catching one between the ribs, felling him, but from the shadows another slunk to take his place. "Arno, there are more in the shadows!" she shouted over the symphonic cacophony of the battle.

" _Oui_ ," he replied. She heard a hiss of a fuse being light and watched him toss something into the darkness. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats…

A loud bang like a pistol shot and a flash of brilliant light blossomed, illuminating the graveyard. Shouts echoed among the graves, men stumbling about blind and deaf, knocking into weeping stone angels. Élise blinked her eyes several times until the flashes cleared. A man screamed, sword held high as he rushed her. She parried the blow but failed to see the smaller dagger in his off-hand come slashing towards her.

She screamed, the hone edge of the blade slicing her side, from beneath her left breast to her shoulder. She dropped her hand to the wound, feeling the stick warmth against her fingers. "Élise?" Arno asked, his voice strained.

"I'm alright," she forced out through gritted teeth. She could still fight, though now her foes knew her weak side was her left. "Any more of those stun bombs?" she asked. They had to get out of here otherwise they'll die. She thrust out, catching a man in the throat. He gurgled, dying, but another took his place. She wondered how many men did Lady Eve send to ambush her. _Traitor!_ Élise thought, stabbing a man in the elbow, crippling him.

Arno tossed one bomb, then another. They went off seconds apart. A brilliant flash and bang followed by billowing clouds of smoke. Arno grabbed her left wrist and dragged her through the smoke, slipping into the shadows on the other side.

"Fine them! Fine them!" someone shouted. Élise gulped, feeling her heart in her throat, each step sending a jarring agony up her left side. She berated herself for being caught off guard like that. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the gaggle of men organizing themselves to give chase. Arno tossed another smoke and stun bomb combination to hide their escape.

They made it through the graveyard to the street on the other side. They ran down the cobblestones, lightning occasionally illuminating their path. "There they are! After them!" a voice shouted. Élise swore, feeling her blood ooze down her side, soaking her shirt and trousers. She dare not tell Arno, and she clung to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He tugged her along by the hand. Taking sudden lefts and sudden rights, throwing bombs here and there to confuse their pursuers.

Élise blinked against the rain. The concept of time seemed to vanish, all sense of direction gone. All she became aware of was Arno's hand holding hers and the blood oozing out of her injured side and the occasional shout of the men following them. Élise closed her eyes, taking deep breathes before opening her eyes again.

Her foot caught on a broken cobblestone, she tripped, tumbling forward and losing her grip on Arno's hand and her sword. "Arno!" she cried, a whimper of pain escaping her. She pushed herself up as he came to her side.

"Élise, are…" he stopped, noticing the dark stain on her side. Hurried footsteps drew nearer and nearer, no time to think, no time to hesitate.

Arno scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, picked up her sword and slipped it into his belt. "Hold on tight," he said as he ran up to one of the lifts. He flicked his hidden blade out, cut the rope and grabbed it before it could run completely through. Élise screamed as they rocketed towards the sky, Arno let go before reaching the pulley at the top. He landed awkwardly on top of her, pressing her back against the roof. She groaned, coughing.

He picked her up, running towards a set of chimneys, where they crouched in the shadows. "Let me see," he said setting her down, they could hear the men below looked for them. "And keep quiet."

Élise chuckled weakly as Arno inspected her wound. She winced, hissing softly. "Is it bad?" she asked. "Feels like he nearly gutted me."

"It's not terrible," Arno said, "but its deep, needs stitches." He looked out over the dark rooftops of Paris.

"We can't go back to the café," Élise said, "not tonight at least and they may know where my father's townhouse is," Élise looked at him, pressing a hand against her wound. "Where do we go?"

"I know a place," Arno said, his voice far away. "Let's go," he said and helping her up. "It'll be faster if we travel by rooftop." Élise nodded, climbing onto Arno's back. He squeezed her thighs against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck and they headed towards the place Arno knew of.

* * *

 

Arno found it difficult to climb down the side of the building with Élise clinging to his back. He made it down though, his coat stained with her blood. They were in a fancier part of Paris, where nobles and gentlemen of means once had their houses. Ghosts of memories long buried flickered in Arno's mind, a child version of himself, his father, a family friend with a beard the color of mud and a scar upon his face and a nose too crooked to have been broken twice. A woman's voice, soft and soothing as she sang in German, a half-remembered lullaby.

_Der Mond ist aufgegangen_ _…_

"What is this place?" Élise asked, sliding off his back to stand at his side. She swayed and he caught her by the elbows. "Arno?"

"Let's get inside," he said, walking up to the door. He twisted the brass doorknob, heard a soft click as the latch sprung free and pushed the door opened. He never stepped foot in the building since learning of its location but he had memorized the address ever since Bellec told him. On the rare evenings the old soldier wasn't forcing him to read every book in the Sanctuary's library he would sit upon the roof opposite this house and stare at it, trying to work up the nerve to enter.

Never did Arno fathom he'd enter it to hide from his enemies. He stepped into the parlor, a thick layer of dust covered the floor. A family portrait hung in the center of the horseshoe shaped stairs. He shut the door, the only source of light coming through the cracks in the boarded up windows. He found an old candle and lit it. He heard Élise gasp, eyes falling upon the portrait. "Who are those people?" she asked.

Arno glanced at the portrait, the man had dark hair and a warm gleam in his eye, a bunch of white lace at his throat with a silver pin in the heart; the pin was shaped in the Assassin insignia. The woman wore a low cut blue dress, a diamond and sapphire necklace adorn her throat. Her honey brown curls piled into an artful mound atop her head, a few ringlets framing her heart-shaped face, warm brown eyes staring back at them, a demure smile on her rosy lips. In her lap sat a boy, barely a year old in a suit that was the miniature of the man's, face still round with baby fat.

The gilded frame had a placard at the bottom that read: _Libertate per scientiam._ At the top was the family's crest: an eagle with a piece of chain in its beak, left talon clutching a red rose and the right holding a white rose. He turned his attention away from the portrait.

"We better take care of your wound before you lose more blood," he said. He led her away from the anteroom.

"Arno?" Élise asked when the silence got too heavy.

He ignored her, leading her up the stairs and into one of the large rooms. Élise sat on the bed, dust puffing up around her. Arno went rummaging through the drawers until he found needle and thread. "Take your shirt of so I can see what I'm doing," he said, bringing the candle to the night stand next to the bed. He sat by Élise, who dutifully stripped her shirt and lay on her right side, wound exposed. He wiped the blood away with his arm.

"Arno, is this your house? Were those people in the portrait your parents?" she asked as he ran the needle through the candle's flame after threading it. He ignored her and began to stitch her wound close. "Arno, I don't like being ignored."

"Shush, I need to concentrate," Arno said, eyes focused on his needlework. She winced and hissed each time he poked her with the needle, but other that than remained still.

"Was the little boy you? The one in the portrait?" she asked after a length of silence. Arno remained silent. "I'm going to get the answer out of you one way or another," she said. "You know that don't you?"

"You can try," Arno said, a smirk tugging at his lips. Élise let out a big sigh. "Do you want a crooked scar?" he asked.

"I don't really care, since you'll be the only one to see it regularly," she quipped.

"Why mademoiselle," he teased, and pushed her shoulder a little bit towards the window. He finished the last few stitches before knotting the thread several times. He leaned forward, cutting the thread with his teeth, his lips brushing against her skin. He heard Élise gasp softly. He flicked his wrist blade out and began to cut up her ruined shirt.

"Arno! That's my shirt!" she protested. He looked at her, a blank look on his face.

"It's ruined, I'll find you another shirt, I'm sure my father's clothes are still in their drawers," Arno said. Élise stared at him.

"Arno, is this place your family home?" she asked.

"Yes," he said softly, nodding. "Bellec bought it from the man your father sold it to before he could… as Bellec put it desecrate it with all his frivolous shit." He went back to cutting up her shirt, until he had several lengths of bandages. "Sit up please," he said. Élise sat up, wincing and he tied the bandages about her torso to protect the wound. "He couldn't convince the man that bought my father's villa in Versailles to sell to him though."

"Wait? Arno… what do you mean my father sold this place?" Élise asked, baffled. She stopped him from bandaging her. "Arno, tell me."

Arno sighed, shaking his head. He glanced about the room, trying to remember if he had ever been in here before when he was a child, when his father was still alive. "As you know I was only eight when my father died. Upon becoming the ward of François de la Serre, my father's estates and monetary holdings were transferred to your father's stewardship, until I came of age," Arno gave a rueful smile, "well your father thought it was best if he sold my father's estates and transferred the earnings and my father's money into the de la Serre family coffers."

"Arno, I'm sorry," Élise said, "I didn't know my father did that."

"It's not your fault," he said, "you were a girl… a child, like I was." Arno returned to bandaging her wound. "Needless to say Bellec found out, and wasn't happy about it, and like I already said, he bought it from the man your father sold it to."

"I see," Élise nodded, "who owns this property now?" Élise asked. Arno shrugged, looking about the room. Neglect was present everywhere, dust and cobwebs and mouse dropping, some of the curtains had chew marks.

"The Assassins, I think. Bellec didn't leave a will or at least as far as I know he didn't," Arno sighed and got off the bed. He stretched.

"Don't you want it?" Élise asked. "I mean this is _your_ house."

"I have the café," Arno muttered. "No sense in moving everything into this rundown place. I'll need to renovate it before anyone can live here again."

"Arno."

"I'm going to see if I can't find a shirt for you," he said. He left her there in the room, the candle casting eerie shadows on the negelected walls. He walked along the halls. A little table sat in the hall, a dusty vase atop it with dead flowers within. The carpet runner covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, holes gnawed in places thanks to the ever growing dynasty of mice that lurked within the walls. Arno caught glimpses of their black shadows, squeaking away from him in the distance.

If he stared at the dim hall long enough, he could almost see how things were, when he lived here as a boy. The servants smiling at him calling him _le petit maître_ , the cook giving him a sweet before dinner and telling him not to tell his father. A wooden sword in hand as, a child's playful scream echoing down the hall as he chased after his father who was playing the evil dragon. A lullaby in German half-remembered, a mother's farewell to a boy too small to understand the gravity of it.

Arno shook his head as he opened the door to a room, his father's room. Somehow he remembered the way. Everything was untouched, the bed still made, the sword above the mantle, the Dorian family crest above it. It felt like stepping into a dream almost. The last time he was in this room was eighteen years ago. His eighth birthday he thinks or maybe it was the week before they left for Versailles.

A life long forgotten, the memories dim and broken at his feet, yet their edges still obsidian sharp and he dare not touch for fear of being cut. He forgot to pick up the scattered shards long ago.

Arno took a breath, the scent of abandonment filling his nostrils, yet below it like a dying whisper, the scent of his father's cologne; cedar and mint. Arno looked about the room, wondering if he'd see his father's ghost.

Nothing.

Arno snorted, shoving the longing and memories away, he shook his head and went to the dresser, pulling the drawer open.

The clothes within smelled of the wood the drawer was constructed out of and the soap the maid had used to launder them. The white had faded to a light grey though the cotton was still soft to the touch. Arno pulled a shirt up and held it for inspection. He brought it to his nose and sniffed, trying to see if his father's scent still clung to the fabric. "Glad to see the mice didn't chew everything in this place," he grumbled, relief and disappointment mixing together. He closed the drawer, glanced up and noticed a rosewood box sitting on top of it. He touched it, finger running along the carved edge gently; his mother's jewelry box.

Arno watched his father stare at his mother's jewelry box for what seemed like an eternity. "Papa?" Arno asked. He turned eight today, the summer was hot; Paris wrapped in a terrible stench of shit that no amount of flowers or perfume could mask.

"Oh, Arno," Charles said, smiling at his son, and closed the lid of the jewelry box. It made a soft sound as it shut. Arno tilted his head. "What's the matter? Oh, before I forget," Charles took another box off the top of the dresser and walked up to his son. "Happy birthday, a messenger told me you're eight today," Charles said, handing the box to his son.

Arno grinned, accepting the box, small fingers tracing the words _L'armée Tin_. "Soldiers," Arno breathed, exited, remembering how he saw a set in a toy shop. "Thank you Papa!" Arno cried and hugged his father tightly around the waist. Charles laughed, patting his son's head. "Can we set them up? Can we? Can we?"

"Of course, do you have any particular battle you want to recreate?" Charles asked as Arno let him go.

"No," Arno shook his head, "I was thinking we can make up our own battle! Can we do that, Papa? Can we?"

"We can do whatever you want, son," Charles said. "Today is your birthday."

Arno gave a little smile, rocking on the balls of his feet, licking his lips. He flicked his eyes to the other box on his father's dresser. "Papa…" Arno began, he wanted to ask. For the last two birthdays he wanted to ask, since his one wish had yet to be granted.

"Hmm?"

"When's Mama coming home?" Arno asked, glancing from the box of tin soldiers to his father's stunned face. "I… It's my fondest wish that she be here for my birthday. So, when is she coming home?"

Arno watched as his father's smile crumbled from his face, the joy fading from his eyes. Charles Dorian seemed to implode on himself and Arno felt his father withdraw from him. Arno couldn't understand why, though he felt the beginning of the answer burn at the very edge of his perception. His mother was gone for a reason, but what reason Arno didn't know. "Papa?" Arno asked, clutching the box of tin soldiers to his chest.

"She's gone Arno," Charles said, his voice soft, unshed tears coating each word. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Arno asked, breath catching in his throat. When people spoke of someone as gone that meant they were dead. The father of the boy that lived across the street was gone, had been gone for years. Arno asked what happened to the man, once, and the butler told him that he shouldn't go poking his nose into such things. "When did she…"

"She's not dead Arno," Charles said quickly, "she simply… left."

"Why?" Arno asked, unable to understand why his mother would simply leave him. Mothers only left if they died, every child knew that.

"I don't know Arno," Charles said. Arno pouted, he knew that look on his father's face, the one that said _I know the answer but I can't tell you yet_.

"Did she… didn't she love me?" Arno asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, yet wanting an answer nonetheless. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I didn't mean… to drive her away."

Charles knelt down to his son's level and pulled the boy into a hug. "You did nothing wrong Arno. She left not because of you but… well, I'll tell you when you're older." Charles held Arno at arm's length, a smile on his face. "I know one thing for certain Arno, your mother loved you very much. More so than her own life. Everything she did since your birth had been for you. Don't ever doubt your mother's love for you, Arno, remember that, always."

"Okay, Papa," Arno mumbled. He snaked one small arm around his father's neck.

"I promise to explain everything when you're older," Charles said, letting Arno go. "But for now, let's not speak anymore on this gloomy topic. It's your birthday and I think you have just been promoted to _La Grand Général des Légions royales de France_." Charles said, scooping up Arno and spinning around, causing Arno to giggle.

"Papa!" Arno laughed. "Put me down, put me down!"

" _Oui, oui, Grand Général_!" Charles said, setting Arno down. Arno giggled again. "Come let's go to the sunroom, we can set up your _grande petite armée d'etain_ there, okay?"

" _Oui!_ " Arno agreed, he paused only for a moment to stare back at his mother's jewelry box.

Arno placed his hand on his mother's jewelry box with a sigh. " _Le Grand Général des Légions royales de France_ ," he muttered, remembering how he pranced around with that fictional title for a week after his birthday, his _grande petite armée d'etain_ tucked beneath his arm. The staff and his father played along even, until one of his father's friends from his gentlemen's club put a stop to it. He also told his father to tell him the truth before it was too late, that Arno was gifted and should be honing his skills _now_ instead of waiting for later. _If only he had_ , Arno thought, thinking about the life he could have led if he had known he was the son of an Assassin, that the Dorian family had been Assassins for almost as long as the de la Serres had been Templars. He wondered if he and Élise would still be together if he had been raise like she had, fully aware of his destiny as an Assassin.

"Arno?"

"Pa—" Arno stopped when he saw that it was Élise. "Élise," he said. "What are you doing up?"

"I got tired of waiting for you to bring me a damn shirt," she said, her arms covering her breasts. She walked over to him and took the shirt from his hand, wincing as she put it on. "Well, it's a touch too big," she said, "but it'll do." She stuffed the hem into her trousers. "What's this?" she gestured to the jewelry box.

"My mother's jewelry box," Arno said, withdrawing his hand. "Do you want to see what's inside?" he asked, a tiny smile on his face.

"It's probably empty Arno," Élise said, "I'm surprise this place has escaped being looted, as far as I can tell."

"I told you, Bellec owned this place and by default the Assassins. They probably made sure nobody touched this place when the rioting broke out, either that or everyone forgot that a noble use to live here." He opened the lid of the jewelry box, breath catching in his throat. His mother's jewels were still within. Well, one was. The only one she apparently left. "Oh look," he pulled the necklace out, "another thing my mother abandoned. Looks like this is a habit of hers."

"It's the necklace from the painting," Élise said, reaching out and touching the cold metal and stones. "It's beautiful."

Arno placed it into Élise's palm. "Have it," he said, his tone bitter. "It's yours, think of it as an early wedding present."

"Arno, this belonged to your mother," Élise said, staring at the necklace. "I can't take it."

"Élise, my mother is probably dead, it's been eighteen years since my father's death," Arno explained. "This house is mine by birthright, everything that lay within it is mine to give away as I see fit."

Élise let out a breath, rubbing Arno's arm as she did so. "Look, Arno," she began, "it's… late, to say the least. We had a trying night, I want to go home," She took his hand, squeezing his fingers. "The thugs are probably gone."

"No," he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, "We're staying," he said. Élise let out a frustrated sigh.

"Arno," Élise said, "I want to leave. I'm tired and it's a long way back to the Café Théâtre."

"And I'm not willing to put your life at risk," Arno snapped, pulling his hand free from her grip.

"I can take care of myself," Élise insisted. He arched a brow. She covered her injured side. "It was a mistake, I miscalculated."

"A miscalculation can get you killed Élise," Arno pointed out, "you may be willing to gamble with those stakes but I'm not," he looked at her, "we're staying."

"No, Arno, we're n—" She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, "not staying."

"Look," he said, "you're tired. I'm tired. We'll take a quick nap, and by the time we wake up the thugs should be gone and we can go back to the Café Théâtre." He gave her hand a little tug, "this way. I'll take you to my room." He said, leading her down the hall. It wasn't far, the second door down on the right. It was unlocked, and the door opened, squeaking on unoiled hinges.

The smell of dust and abandonment hung heavy in the air. Toy soldiers lined the shelf, books he had as child accompanied the soldiers. There was a rocking horse in the corner, a writing desk, a dresser and his bed. "It's… smaller than I remember," Arno muttered, looking at the room, it always seemed bigger in his memories. The bed on the other hand appeared to be as big as he remembered it.

"You didn't have a lot of toys," Élise commented.

"I was gone a lot with my father. He took me to the various countries he visited. We weren't in Paris much, we lived in Versailles. Most of my toys were there," he gave a rueful shrug, "they probably are all destroyed now or looted." Arno said. He walked over to the bed and shook the quilt, dust billowing up. He coughed, turned his head away and shook it a few more times until the dust was cleared, he repeated the process with the pillows. Élise flopped on the bed as soon as he was done. He pulled his hood up, before joining her.

"Really, Arno? Wearing your hood to bed," she teased.

"You're right," he said, sitting up, and taking off his belt, dropping it onto the ground, there was a clang as their swords met; Arno removed his gauntlet and his bomb pouches. "There, I'm unarmed," he said, opening his arms wide. Élise giggled, snuggling up against him, resting her head on his chest, her hand lying on his stomach. He wrapped his arms around her.

"You're still wearing the hood," she pointed out, though Arno could tell her eyes were getting droopy.

"I for one don't want my hair to get covered in left over dust," he said, ruffling her hair, "like yours will." He smiled though, and ended up running his fingers through her hair. He trailed his fingers down from her hairline to her cheek and along her jaw. "Élise?" he asked, but she had fallen asleep. Arno's expression softened, and he pulled her close. He hummed, feeling his own eyes droop. He watched Élise sleep for a bit longer before he succumbed to sleep himself.

* * *

 

Élise woke some time later. Arno snorted in his sleep side her, shifting a bit on the bed. She smiled at him, giggling when she realized his hood at fallen down. "So much for not getting dust in your hair," she whispered and gently tugged it back into place. She wondered what time it was, and leaned over him to fish through his pockets until she found his watch. She snapped it open and her eyes grew wide at the sight of the time. It was already afternoon. Closing it and slipping it back into his pocket, Élise slipped off the bed and began to wander around the room.

For the room of a boy it was rather bare. Then again, Arno hadn't been in this room for eighteen years and who knows what had happened to it between the last time he was here and now. She flipped through some of the books he had: some in French, a few in German. Most of the books were on manners and how a boy should behave. By the quality of the items she found, Élise guessed Charles Dorian was a man of means, but in the lowest possible tiers of the hierarchy of nobles. She remembered Arno mentioning his father held the rank of écuyer.

She opened Arno's dresser and wardrobe, both with garments too small for him. She glanced over at him, smiling as she thought about the boy she met at the palace all those years ago. It was hard to imagine that that boy became the man that was sleeping on the bed. Arno gave a loud snort in his sleep and Élise couldn't help but giggle.

She went through the nightstand, nothing interesting within. Just a picture book which appeared to have been Arno's favorite when he was younger. She got down on her hands and knees and peeked under the bed. A ball, a stick and hoop, a toy sword and pistol, and a tin box. Curious, she reached for the box, pulling it out from under the bed.

She sat back on her heels, blew the dust off the top and wiped away what was left to reveal the brass lettering: _L'armée Tin._ Élise stood up, and went back to her side of the bed and sat down. She placed her hand on Arno's chest and shook him until he woke.

"Hmm?" he opened his eyes, "Élise?" He stretched, pushing his hood off his head.

"Morning," she teased, smiling. "Not really, but it feels like morning."

"Indeed," Arno groaned, stretching again before sitting up. "How's your side? You're doing alright?" He reached out and lightly touched her injured side.

"I'm fine Arno," Élise said, "it's sore, but not painful."

"Good, good." Arno nodded. He noticed the box in her hands. "What is that?"

"Something I found," she replied with a casual shrug. "I went looking through your old things and found this beneath the bed." Élise handed it to him.

"I… I thought I lost this," Arno whispered, running his hand over the lit.

"Why?" Élise asked.

"I got angry at my father, I forget exactly why, I think he… oh yes," Arno chuckled, "now I remember. I pranked my German tutor by setting his snuffbox on fire via a timed fuse. Scared the man off, and my father had to hire a new one. Papa made me speak to him _only_ in German for two weeks." Arno shook his head. "I was so angry that I packed up all the soldiers and shoved them beneath the bed. When it was time to go back to our house in Versailles, I forgot where I had put the soldiers and we had to leave them behind." Arno stroked the corner of the box.

"And then your father died before you could return and retrieve them," Élise said, finishing the story. Arno nodded. Élise grabbed Arno's hand and squeezed his fingers. "Well, you have them now."

"Élise, I'm a grown man," he said, "grown men don't exactly play with toy soldiers unless they are generals."

"Arno," Élise said, "this is clearly something special to you, did your father give it you?"

"Yes," Arno said, pensive, "for my eighth birthday."

"You must miss him," Élise whispered. "I still miss my father." Arno pressed his forehead against hers, a sad smile on his face. "Arno?" Élise asked. He pulled away after a moment, letting out a sigh.

"I've wanted to find out who my father's killer was since I was eight," Arno said, unable to look at her. "I wanted to find him and hit him as hard as I could."

"Arno, you were an eight-year-old boy, what would that have accomplished?" Élise asked. Arno looked at her and gave a shrug.

"I knew it wouldn't've brought my father back, but it would've made me feel better. At least… at the time I thought it would." Arno sighed, tracing the letters on the lid of the tin soldier box. "Finding out that your father knew…. All this time, the man that murdered my father and he didn't even tell me."

"Maybe," Élise began, "he wanted to protect you from the truth."

Arno stared at her and he got the suspicion that Élise wasn't telling him everything. "Élise, you know something, what is it? Tell me."

Élise sighed. She had hope she'd never have to reveal this to Arno, that he'd remain ignorant of what her father had planned, what her father wanted to do. "If I tell you, Arno," she said, "promise me… promise me you'll still trust me?" _That you'll still love me._

"Of course Élise," Arno said, a baffled expression on his face. "Why _wouldn't_ I trust you?"

"Because I… I was never honest with you growing up," Élise said. "I knew I was a Templar since I was eight, I also knew your father was an Assassin. The night you moved in with us," Élise paused and grabbed Arno's hand, "the night you moved in with us, my parents summoned me. My father didn't miss the fact I was taken with you, and since you were unaware of your Assassin heritage he… thought it would be prudent to turn you to the Templar side."

"How?" Arno asked with trepidation. Élise chewed her lip, unable to look at him; her grip on his hand tightened. "How exactly did your father propose you do this, Élise?"

Élise looked away, too ashamed to meet Arno's gaze. Softly she whispered, "by manipulating you." She looked up then, watching as Arno's eyes grew wide. She felt him try to pull his hand free but she held fast. "I refused Arno. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't break your trust like that. Plus, I was selfish back then as well. You were the only respite I had from the world of Templars and Assassins. You, who knew nothing of your own kind or my kind," she sniffed, "you were innocent of everything, untouched by secrets and deceit."

"You never lied to me," Arno whispered.

"No. Never. I just… didn't… tell you everything. My father was furious for my refusal, but my mother backed me. He tried several times later, and each time I said I would do it, but I never did." Élise said, and stared at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "I wanted to protect you from all of this. In the end though, I failed," she hung her head, "you found out on your own… became an Assassin."

"Élise," Arno whispered, cupping her cheek and stroking it with his thumb. She leaned into the touch, thankful that he hadn't left her. "Maybe it was meant to be this way," he said. "Me, an Assassin. You, a Templar. Our love will bring peace and our future children will help forge a union between the two sides that cannot be broken."

"Please, don't be angry at my father," Élise said. "In his own way… he wanted to protect you as well. If you had become a Templar, he would've been able to keep you safe. Well, safer than what he could without you being a Templar."

"I… I guess I understand," Arno whispered, he dropped his hand from her face and grabbed her hand. "I mean, one day I'll be a father, and my life won't be my own… I'll have a new life to love and protect," he looked at her, "Élise," he began, "promise me something… promise that any children we have won't grow up like how I did. An abandoned orphan dependent on the kindness of strangers."

"They won't, Arno," Élise said, "our children will know nothing of what we went through. They will only know the love of their parents. I swear to you, when we have children they will only know love and happiness."

Arno nodded, bowing his head. She watched as a tear rolled down his cheek then another. "I miss him, Élise," Arno said, looking up at her. He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose and then rubbing at his tears. "I miss him so much. Finding out who killed him has brought up so many memories that I… I thought I put behind me," Arno mumbled, "I feel like it's my fault he died. I keep thinking to myself, that if I had only stayed put, ignored you… my father… he may have lived. That my disobedience somehow killed him… that _I_ killed him."

Élise let go of his hand and pulled him into a hug. She stroked his hair, cooing softly. "No Arno, no. Don't ever think that. Don't ever think that for a moment. I don't know what would have happened if you had stayed, but I doubt it would've been good. Cormac could've killed your father and then killed you so there were no witnesses. So, please, love, don't ever think your father's blood is on your hands because it isn't. The blood of Charles Dorian is on the hands of Shay Cormac."

"Élise," Arno said.

Élise pulled back so she could look at him. "Trenet knows, she will send out missives to the other Assassins, they will find him and when Trenet gets word of his location, you and I will go together to confront him and you will finally get your answers." Élise said, "I promise. I won't let you face this alone, Arno."

"Thank you, Élise," Arno whispered. He sniffed again, rubbing at his eyes and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said, "now… I think the thugs have given up by _now_ , so…" Élise trailed off, smiling a little as she looked at the door. Arno chuckled.

"Is that a subtle hint you want to leave?" he asked. Élise giggled, and slipped off the bed.

"Maybe," she said and stretched. "All this talk of babies and pregnancy makes me realize that when I am pregnant, near the end I'll be round as a whale," she looked at him, an impish smile on her face, "I won't be able to see my toes, Arno, you'll have to help me put my shoes on."

"Well," Arno said, picking up the box of tin soldiers and joining her; he placed his hand on the small of her back. "Just so you know, Élise, no matter how big you get I whale always love you."

Élise eyes grew wide and she bit her cheek to hold back a laugh. "That's terrible Arno," she snickered. "Absolutely horrid." Arno chuckled, a smile on his face and a merry glint in his eye. "Come on," Élise said, grabbing his hand, "let's go home."

"Yes, let's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> Note: Please reread chapters 1-15. If you haven't reviewed those chapters please do so, if you have and wish to review again, anonymous review is on.  
> I was going to continue, but in all honesty this chapter is done. We get a long awaited Arno flashback. Cute wittle Arno before his left went topsy-turvy. Sometimes I miss Bellec, I'm sad he's dead.
> 
> If my French is wrong, I'm sorry, but Google Translate lied to me.  
> PS: Edited shit.  
> Mutti = Mommy Vatti = Daddy in German.
> 
> My headcanon is that Arno was 2 or 3 when his mother left him and his father. He remembers it but more like a dream, at that age when memories are just starting to really form.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!


	17. Secret's Exposure

They reached the Café Théâtre well passed closing time. "Oh about time you two showed up!" Noémie snapped, when Arno and Élise entered the now empty café. "I've had a devil of a time keeping a crippled man out of places he shouldn't be poking his nose in!" Élise sighed, rolling her eyes, while Arno gave a nervous chuckle. "Next time you two plan to have a midnight escapade that lasts all day as well, please leave a note," Noémie said.

"We will," Arno said, tugging Élise along to the residential section of the café. "Now we may be able to sneak—"

"Where in the bloody blazing hells have you two been?" Weatherall thundered, hobbling towards them on his crutches.

"So much for sneaking," Arno muttered. Élise gave a snort, letting go of Arno's hand and walking up to her mentor.

"Mr. Weatherall," Élise said, smiling, "what are you doing it up? It's late."

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been, Élise?" Weatherall said. "I wake up and you're gone, he's gone, nobody knows where either of you two have traipsed off to! What was I supposed to think!"

"That I would protect her," Arno hissed, walking up to Élise and Weatherall. "Do you discount my love for Élise that much? Do you think that my love is frivolous or that I would just allow harm to come to her?"

"How dare you—" Weatherall began.

"Mr. Weatherall," Élise shouted, intervening, "Arno," she looked at her fiancé, "we have an actual problem." Élise pecked Arno on the cheek. "Wait for me upstairs, please."

"Élise, I can help."

"This is a Templar matter, boy," Weatherall stated. "You are not needed, required or wanted."

Arno looked from Weatherall to Élise. She swallowed looking away from his gaze, seeing the questioning hurt his eyes. His throat tightened. "Élise."

"No," Élise said, after a moment of thought, "you're right. We need to talk but not out in the hall," she said. Arno jerked his head towards the intendent's study.

"In there," he said, gesturing to towards the door. Élise nodded, while Weatherall grumbled about maneuvering his crutches. Arno shut the door once they were in and Élise closed the window. Weatherall plopped wearily into the nearest chair. Élise sat in another and Arno leaned up against the door frame, arms over his chest, his box of soldiers at his feet.

"Alright, you two," Weatherall said, looking between Arno and Élise, "what is this pressing matter?"

"Arno and I went to the Cimetière des Saints Innocents, last night to meet with a Lady Eve," Élise said, "I was informed of this request because Ruddock brought me a note."

"And you trusted Ruddock? Élise," Weatherall sighed, "this man tried to kill you and your mother."

"No, just my mother," Élise corrected.

"Regardless," Arno interjected, "of who he was trying to kill, he meant you harm. I don't like him either, Élise. He's a snake."

"He's a former Assassin. He wants to return to the Brotherhood," Élise said.

"I didn't know Trenet was considering opening up a menagerie or that the first animal on display would be a serpent," Arno quipped, ignoring Élise's scowl. "I'll talk to Trenet, see if she'll let me hunt him down."

"You will do no such thing, Arno," Élise hissed, "Ruddock is useful to me. I've saved his life twice and he will obey me until I have deemed his usefulness has run its course. Then, and only then, can you talk to Trenet about killing Ruddock."

"Very well," Arno said tightly.

"In the meantime," Weatherall said, "did you learn anything from this Lady Eve?"

"No," Élise said, "unfortunately, Lady Eve betrayed me and sent her goons after me. The note informed me to come alone, but I didn't trust the sender, so I had asked Arno. Someone must've spotted him."

"I don't see how," Arno said, "there was nobody at Cimetière des Saints Innocents when we arrived, _and_ Élise went in alone. We split up before we got there, and I was already in the cemetery. There was nobody there besides me, Élise, and the dead when midnight arrived. I have no idea how Lady Eve knew I was with Élise."

"One of their goons must've been a look out along the path and spotted you and Élise," Weatherall said.

"What path, there was no way they knew that we came from the Café Théâtre," Arno said. Élise looked away, suddenly quiet. "Élise?"

"I got a note, after our reunion from Franciade," Élise said, blushing a bit, "it was unsigned, telling me to be leery of those I trusted within the order."

"And you didn't think to tell me this because?" Arno asked.

"Because," Élise said, looking at Arno, "It's Templar business!" Élise glanced between Arno and Weatherall. "And speaking of Templar business," she stood up and went to her fiancé, "Why don't you get settled in upstairs, I'll be along in a moment, hmm?" Élise suggested, rubbing his arm.

Arno looked away, then gave a tired sigh. He shook off her touch, stooped and picked up his box of tin soldiers. "I'll see you upstairs." He gave her a little smile, patted her arm and left the room. Élise watched him go with a sigh.

"All well in lover's paradise, Élise?" Weatherall asked, an amused little smile on his face. Élise scowled.

"Are you angry with Arno?" she asked. Weatherall drew back as if she had struck him.

"No, of course not," he said. "Why would I be? Other than him trying to hurt you the other week, I quiet like the lad. He's everything you said he would be."

"You came off rather hostile, as if he isn't capable of protecting me," Élise commented, her voice tart. "Arno would sooner die than to allow harm to befall me. And," Élise added, "you were also a bit nasty to him. Trying to exclude him from this discussion. Arno's an Assassin, he can spot things we Templars miss. Learn to trust him… please."

"I'm sorry, Élise," Weatherall said, "I'm not overly fond of Assassins. Even if the particular Assassin in question is your future husband." Weatherall looked at Élise, before leaning over and patting her knee. "But for you I'll make an honest effort to better my behavior around him."

Élise smiled. "Thank you, Freddie," Élise said. "Now, there is something I want to discuss with you. Have you heard of a Lady Eve?"

Weatherall frowned, tugging at his beard. "Can't say I have. I mean, the only Eve I'm familiar with is the Eve from the Bible, but I doubt that's whom you're talking about. Why?"

"Because it's thrice now someone has mentioned that name. Ruddock, an American Templar I met, and the ringleader of those thugs that ambushed us," Élise sighed, "I don't like it, Mr. Weatherall. I don't like not knowing who this Lady Eve is!"

"Neither do I," Weatherall sighed, "I'll see what I can learn. I'm sure there are still _some_ Templars that are loyal to the de la Serre name around Paris that are alive."

"Excellent," Élise stood, "now, I do believe Arno is waiting for me and we had a very long and trying day. I'm looking forward to a good night's rest." Élise said, "Good night, Mr. Weatherall." She headed to the door.

"Élise," Weatherall called out, cause her to withdraw her hand from the doorknob and look over at him.

"Hmm?"

"Have you spoken to a midwife?"

"No."

"Helene may be right," Weatherall said, "and if she is what will you do? Will you tell Arno?"

Élise dropped her hand from the doorknob, placing it on her stomach. Helene's words refused to leave her in peace; they made sense and she _is_ late with her cycle this month, a child was completely plausible. She chewed her lip, easily envisioning Arno's joyful smile at the news. A child would thrill him, yet she wasn't ready for such a commitment. "Of course, I'd tell Arno."

"And?"

"And what? _If_ I'm pregnant, I'll tell Arno and have the baby, what else is there for me to do!" Élise said, turning to face he mentor. "Unless you're suggesting I _don't_ tell Arno and find a hedge witch and hope her womb cleansing concoction doesn't poison me as well."

"No, no," Weatherall said, shaking his head, "I'm not suggesting _that_! Good heavens, no. I just… I worry. I know you don't want to have children—"

"You and Arno both think I'm opposed to having a family," Élise snapped, "I'm not." She gave Weatherall a level stare. "I _do_ want a family, I want children, but _now_ is not the right time for a child. There is too much going on, too much at stake for me to feel safe. I'll be vulnerable while pregnant and—"

"This is war Élise," Weatherall said, "there may be an uneasy truce at the moment between Templars and Assassins in France, but you still have enemies; within the Templar Order both in France and aboard. Don't grow complacent. The Carrolls are still out there, plotting their revenge as we speak, and I'm pretty damn sure they won't take too kindly knowing you're carrying an _Assassin's_ child. There _will never be_ a right time for you to be pregnant."

"I see," Élise said, disappointed.

"Élise," Weatherall said, softening his tone, "I don't mean to discourage you and Arno from having a family. If that's what you two truly want in your future. All I'm saying is that if you're looking for a safe moment to have a child, there isn't going to be one. _Especially_ for you and Arno." He paused tugging at his mustache before sighing; he didn't like the crushed look on his protégée's face. "Élise, if I may ask, when _were_ you planning on getting pregnant?"

"In the spring," she said, touching the door frame. "I think by then I'll have the Order under control, mostly. I won't have so much to worry about and I'll know who my allies are. I'll be able to focus on being a mother, getting ready for a child."

"That sounds reasonable," he said with a nod, "and if you are pregnant, I suggest you focus on being a mother. Let me work out the Templar Order, I am your lieutenant after all," he smiled, "let me do my damn job."

"But I'm the Grand Master and—"

"You don't need to manage the daily minutia of running the Templar Order, I can take care of that. You just need to focus on the larger components," Weatherall said with a chuckle, smiling despite Élise's frown. "What I'm saying Élise that you don't have to take on all the responsibilities. Let me help you when and where I can."

"Alright," Élise said, turning away with a huff, "Arno's expecting me, he's probably wondering where I am."

Weatherall chuckled, "go then." Élise smiled and left the room.

* * *

Élise entered the room she shared with Arno, and saw the steam billowing up from behind the screen. "Arno?" Élise asked, as she heard water splash. He poked his head out behind the screen, chest bare. She blushed a little. "Hey."

"Élise," he gave her a smile, "Andrée just finished brining me the last of the water for a bath. Care to join?" he asked. Élise gave a relieved sigh, a wide smile on her face.

"A bath sounds lovely," she said stepping towards him. She glanced at the tub, arching a brow. "Are you sure we'll both fit?"

Arno shrugged. "We'll managed," he said, taking a step towards her and undoing the buttons on her waistcoat. She smiled as she undid the buckles of her belt and the knot of her sash. She kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her pants, Arno took off her waistcoat. "Let me take your shirt off," he said, and gently began to tug her shirt up over her head, mindful of her injured side.

He stared at his make shift bandage before undoing it. Élise hissed, as he gently peeled it away. "Is it bad?" she asked.

"It needs to be cleaned," Arno said, lightly touching his needle work. "I'll have to ask Noémie if she has any ointment otherwise I'll have to go to apothecary." His hand trailed down to her flat stomach. Élise looked at him, happy to see the warm smile on his lips, and a faraway look in his eyes.

Élise laughed. "Daydreaming are we?" she asked, tapping his nose.

"A little," Arno chuckled. "Just imagining really."

"We need to get you out of those pants and into the tub before the water gets cold," Élise said, taking a step away from him and breaking contact. Arno huffed, shaking his head. He finished undressing and stepped into the tub, hissing softly at the heat before sinking down.

"Aah," he looked at Élise, "it's perfect." He said, as he reached behind his head and undid the ribbon, his hair falling loose around his shoulders. Élise giggled, undoing her hair before joining Arno in the tub. She leaned back against his chest, resting her hands on his knees. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the warm water loosening knotted muscles.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Élise asked.

"Mm," Arno cracked open an eye, "what?"

"Why were you named Arno?"

Arno chuckled, sitting up a bit straighter. "Papa wanted to honor the great Renaissance Assassin, Ezio Auditore da Firenze," Arno said. Élise twisted around to try and look at him, and he chuckled. "I'm named after a river in Italy, Élise, the Arno."

"Oh," Élise said. "What about Victor?"

"What about it?" Arno asked.

"Why are do you have that as a middle name instead of something French, like Jean-Philippe?"

Arno shrugged. "Papa said Mother gave me that name, but he never talked about Mother much so I don't know. What about you?"

"My great-grandmother of my father's side was named Élisabeth," Élise said, "my parents didn't want to name me Élisabeth, so they shortened it to Élise."

"It's pretty," Arno said, Élise flushed.

"Thank you," Élise said, "we aren't doing any washing," she giggled. Arno rolled his eyes.

"Why did you want to know anyway?"

"Curious," Élise said with a shrug, "I never asked and it never seemed important. We grew up together yet I feel like I don't _know_ you."

"Well," Arno began, "you did lead a different life than me, despite being in the same house. Plus, you went to school when you were twelve."

"Don't remind me," Élise whispered, bitter. "I hated Madame de la Mare."

"I'm sure she wasn't that bad," Arno chided, snaking his arms beneath Élise's breasts. "You survived after all."

"Just barely," Élise huffed, sagging into his embrace. "I was expected to be a prime and proper Parisian young lady. I went to the same lessons with her girls and in the evening we had the same Templar studies. It was agony, being away from you," Élise whispered.

"I read your letters," Arno said, mussing her hair with his lips, kissing random spots. "You were grieving, dear heart."

"I missed her, Arno," Élise hissed, grabbing his arms, "my mother was barely dead for two weeks and my father shuffled me off to Madame de la Mare's before my mother's body was cold in the ground! The day after her funeral too!"

"I know, I know," Arno said, "you woke me up to say goodbye."

"Saying goodbye to you was the second hardest thing I had to do," Élise said, "I had half a mind to ask my father if you could come along and I'll just say you're my servant or something."

"I don't know if I should be pleased or hurt," Arno chuckled. Élise huffed, though her lips curled into a smile when Arno pressed a kiss to her nape. "Life didn't get easier for me after you left. Olivier got nastier to me," Arno said, "not out right, since I was still his better. Your father slowly started assigning me tasks as punishment for my misbehavior, which Olivier took great delight in executing."

"You… you never told me," Élise whispered. "I would've done something, wrote to my father and told him and—"

"And what would that have accomplished?" Arno asked, his voice soft, "I was never a de la Serre. I was just the boy your father took in. Not a member of the family nor a servant, somewhere in that muddy grey area between the two."

"I still felt like I should've done something, I was like a big sister… your protector," Élise grumbled.

"Élise, I was never a part of your family," Arno said, "your father treated me with kindness out of respect for my birthright, my father, and you, but other than that he didn't treat me like a family member."

"You were _too_ a member of the family," Élise hissed, twisting around to face him, her arm falling onto his shoulders.

"Élise I wasn't," Arno insisted, "I didn't belong."

"You _did!_ "

"Then explain, because clearly I missed something," Arno said. Élise sighed, nuzzling his cheek.

"You were _there_ ," she said, cupping his cheek, "you were always there for me. I could come to you with my childish problems and pranks, we'd laugh and play in the garden or run about and throw snow at each other during the winter. I could tell you so much in my letters than I could to the ones I wrote to my father." She slid down, the water sloshing and she rested her head on his chest. "I missed you so much, Arno, I can't describe it. So, don't you dare say you weren't a part of my family, because to me you were, more so than my own father ever was."

"Your father loved you, Élise," Arno said, "he spoke of you often when he was alone with me."

"You still spent more time with him," Élise said, squeezing her eyes shut, "he always wanted a son, he cared about you more than me."

"He didn't," Arno insisted, "he missed you terribly when you were away at school in Paris. He took so many trips to Paris during those years. He may have not showed it much, but you were so very precious to him," Arno looked away, "I never felt that affection after my father died."

"I guess that's something we have in common," Élise said, dryly.

"Thank you, though," Arno said, "for accepting me."

Élise smiled, looking up at him, "of course Arno, I love you. I guess we were two lonely souls, cast aside by the world for various reasons. We got lucky and found more than friendship in each other."

"That's one way to put it," he chuckled. They lapsed into another comfortable silence, both uncaring about the cooling water.

"Julie," Élise finally said, "or Julien, if we have a boy at some point."

"What are you talking about?" Arno asked.

"I want to name a child after my mother, boy or girl, I want a child of our blood to bare my mother's name," Élise said.

"Alright," Arno said, giving a little nod, "I can accept that. I mean, I don't have names picked out. I've never really thought about it, but we can do that when we finally have children."

"You don't want to name a child after your father or mother?" Élise asked.

"My father maybe but I don't want to name any child after my mother," Arno grumbled. "Besides I don't even know my mother's name."

"What do you mean you don't know the name of your own mother?" Élise asked, baffled that he didn't know such information.

"I mean, my father never told me because talking about my mother hurt him too much to discuss it with his young son," Arno snapped. He shifted, water sloshing in the tub.

"I'm sorry, Arno," Élise whispered, "I didn't know."

"It's fine," Arno said, "I shouldn't've snapped, it's just a delicate subject for me, that's all."

"No, I'm sorry, Arno," Élise said, "I shouldn't've said that, I didn't me to pry."

"Don't be," Arno said, and paused, "let's agree that we both made a mistake," he concluded after a moment's thought.

"Alright, fine," Élise said, giving a cute little pout, though her mind wandered, wondering what could have drove Arno's mother to leave her family in such a fashion that left her son bitter and angry to the point he avoided speaking about her. "Now though," she said, "we wash!"

Arno chuckled, smiling as Élise turned around, wetting the washcloth before working up a thick soapy lather. She washed him, laughing when she found his ticklish spots and he squirmed, sloshing water over the side. She kissed the scars above the water's surface, his lips when she washed his face and neck and behind his ears (she discovered he was ticklish there too). She washed his feet and between his toes and up his legs. Blushing she tossed him the washcloth and told him to was his manhood.

"My own wife won't even wash the most important part of my body," Arno gave a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart, "I'm honestly hurt," he said. Élise scowled, though a smile threatened to break free. She splashed him. They both laughed and he washed his manhood in the end.

In return he washed her, using it as an excuse to touch her, though he was mindful of her wound, taking great delicacy in cleaning it. It always amazed Élise how gentle Arno's hands could be. He had a killer's hands; hands that knew how to maim and hurt and kill, yet as he washed her, his hands were gentle, tender, coaxing those soft moans and near-quiet gasps from her throat. They were a lover's hands and her body was their temple, and oh, how they worshiped. "Arno," Élise whispered, her eyes clouded with want. He smirked.

"I'll wash every inch of my wife," he purred, dragging the wash cloth down from her hip to between her legs. Élise groaned, a shudder going through her body.

"Bastard, we aren't married yet," she growled. Arno chuckled, leaning back when he was done. Élise huffed, all bothered by his touch. Arno tossed the washcloth on the stool near the fire before submerging his head in the tub. He popped back up with a gasp, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Hand me the soap, please," he said, and Élise fished the soap out and handed it to him. She sat at the other end of the tub, feet resting on his thighs. "Don't be so pouty Élise," Arno said. "I'll make it up to you once we're in bed, promise." He winked, and laughed when she rolled her eyes. He worked a lather into his hands before scrubbing his scalp and hair. He submerged again to rinse his hair. He surfaced, gasping for breath, a few stubborn suds clinging to his hair, which he wiped away. "Do you want to wash your hair?"

"It's going to be a snarly mess tomorrow," Élise pouted, eyeing the soap. She huffed, and gave in submerging and allowing Arno to wash her hair. Once done, she stood up from the tub, water dripping from her body, and she stepped out of the tub. She grabbed a towel and began to dry herself, patting her wound dry.

"We shouldn't bandage it tonight," Arno said, "let it breath. Noémie can look at it tomorrow."

"Alright," Élise said, drying her hair. "I hope Noémie or Valérie have a strong comb because it's going to be hell working out all these tangles, and I don't think Helene brought my brush."

"I'm sure they can manage your hair," Arno said, getting out of the tub and drying himself off as well. He ran his fingers through his damp locks.

"I am surprised you haven't raised a fuss about the note I received," Élise said, look at him. Arno shrugged, shaking out his towel before hanging it over the screen. "Arno?"

"What do you want me to say Élise?" Arno asked, looking at her. "I trust you, I understand you had your reasons to keep it from me," he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I also understand there are some things that we can't tell each other, even though our two sides are at a truce."

"I know," Élise said, taking his hand off her shoulder and kissing the palm. She let his hand go before heading to the bed and crawling in.

"I'm going to Trenet tomorrow," Arno said, as he walked over to the bed. He got in, snuggling against the pillows. He flipped his damp locks over them and pulled Élise close to him. "Tell her about Ruddock."

"You will do know such thing, Arno!" Élise hissed, looking at her. He rolled his eyes, licked his thumb and index finger before snuffing out the candle on the nightstand. The room was plunged into darkness. "Trenet will have you hunt him down!"

"I have to tell her, Élise. She has the right to know he is still alive and a possible threat to the Brotherhood. I will also tell her that he is under your protection and that she'll jeopardize the truce if she insists he'd be brought peace."

"Fine," Élise huffed. "Arno, fine."

"Élise, I'm doing this to—"

"If you're doing this because you need to protect me then don't bother doing it!" Élise snapped. "I don't need protection"

"I don't trust him Élise," Arno said, iron in his words. He pulled her close. "I know you can protect yourself, but Élise," he nuzzled her neck, "you are my family. You are _all_ I have left _of_ a family. You… are all I have." He cupped her cheek so she would look at him. "Please, let me protect what little I have. Let me protect my family."

"Arno."

"I'm just going to tell her about him, because Trenet needs to be aware of him," Arno said. He blushed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, bowing his head. "I killed the mood."

Élise laughed snuggling closer to him. "Only a little, but I'm sure we can seduce it back," she said, a smirk on her face. Arno chuckled, kissing her and pulling her close. They broke apart when the need for breath because apparent. Élise smiled, tracing the scar on Arno's cheek. "Make love to me, Arno."

Arno smiled, shifting to settle himself between her legs. "Always."

* * *

Arno sighed as he watched Trenet sit down behind her desk. "Thank you, Mentor, for agreeing to meet with me," Arno said. Trenet nodded, picking up her quill.

"If you're here about an update on Cormac," Trenet said, "you'll be happy to note that I have sent missives inquiring his whereabouts to our brothers throughout Europe, and I'm about to pen some more to send to our brothers in Canada, the United States and the Caribbean."

Arno's eyes widen, and a smile spread across his face. "I'm pleased to hear that. Thank you Mentor," Arno said.

"In exchange, next time please do something more productive than drowning your sorrows in drink." Trenet looked at him. "Take up a hobby or something."

"Playing pharaoh was an excellent hobby," Arno chuckled. "Offered plenty of opportunity for exercise."

Trenet arched a brow. "You cheated didn't you."

"Me?" Arno wrinkled his nose. "No, never. Hugo and Victor on the other hand," Arno smirked, "were notorious cheats. Everyone in Versailles knew they cheated a pharaoh."

Trenet gave Arno a cryptic smile. "I'm sure your father would have been pleased to note that his son was putting his gift to such clever use," Trenet said. Arno bowed his head, shame coloring his cheeks.

"Honestly," Arno said, "my father would probably be disappointed." Arno looked at Trenet. "You know I never remember him ever being angry. Whenever I got in trouble, he just gave me this disappointed look and I would feel wretched and apologize. Then he would give me my punishment."

Trenet nodded. "Yes," she agreed, "Charles was like that. Only ever saw him angry once, and that was over a disagreement between him and your grandfather, Émeric. I think it had to do with your mother, Marie. Regardless, your father had the patience of an oak."

"My grandfather's name was Émeric?" Arno asked. Trenet nodded. "I never knew. And my mother's name was Marie?"

"Charles never told you?" Trenet asked. Arno shook his head. "Figures. Charles wasn't a man to display his emotions. He tended to be stoic about things that bothered him. Yes, your mother's name was Marie, and your grandfather's name was Émeric. Your grandfather died before you were born. Bellec was furious that Charles didn't become Mentor after your grandfather's death, but hereditary succession isn't the Assassin way."

"Bellec trained my father," Arno mumbled.

"He did. Your grandfather was much too busy being Mentor to the Brotherhood to train your father, and Bellec was tasked with training new members, even if they've were born into the Brotherhood like your father," Trenet chuckled, "and not plucked gracelessly from prison cells in the Bastille."

"But you knew my father as well?" Arno asked. Trenet nodded.

"I did. Charles and I were good friends," she said, "and believe me Arno, when I say, that I want to see Shay Patrick Cormac brought to justice just as much as you do."

"And I intend to bring Cormac to justice, Mentor," Arno said, his tone serious.

"You aren't here to ask about your family or Cormac are you?" Trenet asked.

"No," Arno said, sitting up, "I'm here to tell you about an Assassin… well, former Assassin."

"A former Assassin?" Trenet leaned back in her chair. "Please, tell me."

"He is under Élise's protection as of now, but this former Assassin is named Ruddock."

Trenet dropped her quill. "Ruddock, you say?"

"Yes, why?"

"Bernard Ruddock was a British Assassin," Trenet said, before slamming her fist on the table. She bit her knuckle frustrated. "Mirabeau had to cash in a few favors with his friends in Britain to get Ruddock dismissed."

"Why what did he do?" Arno asked. "Did he go after a target when he wasn't supposed to?"

"No," Trenet said, "he betrayed the Brotherhood, worked for coin on the side, consorted with Templars, _and_ threatened one of our own."

"I see," Arno said. "Élise said that she promised she'll convince the Assassins to take him back."

"Ha!" Trenet barked a laugh. "Tell her that that will never happen. No Mentor will accept him. Ruddock made his bed, now he has to lie in it."

"I understand Mentor."

"But," Trenet said, "since he's under her protection I can't have you go killing him unless he attacks her outright. So, keep your guard up, Arno. Ruddock is not to be trusted."

"Yes Mentor," Arno said. Trenet hummed her approval and opened a drawer in the bottom of the deck. She pulled out an old gauntlet, setting in on the desk.

"This," she said as she picked up the item, "belongs to you."

"Me?" Arno blinked. "Mentor, I already have a gauntlet."

"No, this was your father's hidden blade," Trenet said and held out the gauntlet. "It's fitting that you should have it."

"My father's…" Arno whispered, taking the gauntlet.

"Charles would've wanted you to have it. Use it wisely."

"I will," Arno said, "thank you." He stood up and slipped the gauntlet onto his right arm. He moved his arm up and down, getting use to the weight. "It doesn't have a phantom blade."

"Your father died before those were crafted," Trenet said. "Give my regards to your fiancée."

"I will," Arno said, and stood up. "Thank you for seeing me, Mentor."

"Safety and peace, Arno," Trenet said.

"To you as well," he agreed and left the Mentor's office. He made his way briskly through the Sanctuary and up into the café. The murmur of the patrons for lunch could be heard in the hall as he passed the café section before heading up the stairs. He entered his room, Élise was sitting at the desk, scribbling away at letters. He walked up behind her and touched her shoulder.

"Oh, Arno!" she gasped, a little smile coming to her cheeks. "You startled me."

"Sorry," he said, heading over to the wardrobe by the bed. "I spoke to Trenet about Ruddock."

"And what did she say?"

"To be careful around Ruddock," Arno said, undoing the straps on his wrist blades and setting them in the bottom of the wardrobe, before taking off his overcoat and hanging it up. "She told me why he was kicked out."

"Why?"

"He consorted with Templars, worked for coin, betrayed the Brotherhood and threatened one of our own," Arno said, removed his two waistcoats, his boots, and breeches; folding each item (other than the boots) and putting them in the wardrobe.

"Did she tell you who he threatened?" Élise asked, taking Arno's hand.

"No," Arno said, he shrugged into his navy waistcoat and shimmied into matching trousers before putting on a beloved pair of well-worn boots, "but she did say Mirabeau had to use some of his favors with our British brothers to get him removed. She also told me to be leery of him," he walked over to her, retying his red neck-cloth so he could tuck the ends into his waistcoat. He sat down beside her. "I'm telling you to be leery of him too."

Élise cupped his cheek, stroking his cheekbone. "I will Arno. Don't worry, Ruddock needs me."

"Also, Trenet says she won't help you get Ruddock back into the Brotherhood."

"That's fine," Élise said, "I wasn't planning on keeping my end of the bargain anyway. I figured the Assassins had a good reason for dismissing him. I never trusted him and I was only ever using him to gather information."

"Be careful Élise," Arno chided. Élise pecked his nose, earning her a smile from him. "So, what are you doing?"

"Writing invitations to our wedding," she said, "I was thinking December 2nd, will be a good day to have it. We'll just have to find a place, sign the marriage contract, get a marriage license from the magistrate, published the bans, and… pay the official to marry us."

"Sounds painful," Arno muttered, which earned him a smack. He chuckled.

"We need parental permission though," Élise said, "my parents are dead."

"My father is dead," Arno said. Élise arched a brow. "No," he said, voice steely. "I am _not_ writing to my mother. I don't even know if she's alive!"

"Arno," Élise said, "she's the only living parent either of us. I'm sure she's still alive. I mean, why wouldn't she be alive?"

"I…" Arno pouted, "I don't know. I mean, she should. She was an Austrian noblewoman and probably went back there when she left my father."

"Please, Arno, just write her. If we're asked, we can just lie and say she's approved of the marriage. I have my father's old letters, I can find the one she sent and forge her signature if I have to." Élise looked at Arno. "I mean, if you don't want to marry then—"

"No," Arno said, "I want to marry you. I'll write the letter." He snorted. "I just won't like doing it." Élise rubbed Arno's back, earning her a tired sigh.

"I noticed you put two hidden blades away this time, did Trenet give you another one?" she asked.

"In away," Arno said, glancing at his feet, "it belonged to my father's," Arno said. "My grandfather Émeric Dorian, was Mentor before Mirabeau."

"Why didn't your father become Mentor?" Élise asked. "Wasn't he your grandfather's heir?"

"The Mentorship doesn't work like that," Arno said, "the previous Mentor appoints their successor or the Mentor is elected by the council. Though in extreme cases it's the next highest ranking Assassin."

"I thought Quemar out ranked Trenet?" Élise said. "At least that's what it appeared to me."

"No, Trenet may be younger than Quemar but she out ranks him."

"Interesting," Élise said. She winced, rubbing her stomach. Arno arched a brow.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Élise nodded, a breath hissing out between clenched teeth. "Do you want me to get you something?"

"Hot tea," she said, "it's just cramps Arno. It's just I never had such strong cramps before."

"Oh… okay," Arno said, "why don't you go lie down. A nap may do you some good."

"Hmm." Élise nodded. "Yes, that sounds good, but I have a few more of these invitations to finish," Élise said, gesturing to the pile of paper.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Arno asked.

"I'll be fine. It's perfectly normal to get cramps every month for a woman," Élise said, "I'm just late. So having them now is catching me a bit off guard." Arno frowned, but gave a little shrug as he stood up. "Plus I normally get cramps when I'm bleeding and I haven't started bleeding yet," Élise frowned, "it's a bit disconcerting."

"What tea do you want?" he asked, going over to the tea set and picking up the pot.

"Peppermint," she said, going back to her work. He nodded, heading towards the door and leaving the room for the kitchen.

The trip to the kitchen was uneventful, though took longer because Iris was there and Arno always had trouble getting Iris to do anything. She acted almost afraid of him sometimes, unable to meet his gaze, her cheeks a bright pink, but in the end he got the peppermint tea steeping in the pot.

Humming to himself, Arno headed up the stairs. He reached the landing of the second floor when he heard a thump coming from his room. He squinted, the auras springing to life. He noted Élise's brilliant aureate aura was crumbled on the ground. Queasy dread coiled in his stomach and he could taste bile in the back of his throat. Fear gnawed at his heart; he blinked, dispelling the aura. Arno rushed to the room, opening the door with a slam. Élise lied there on the ground like a discarded doll.

The teapot slipped from limped figures. "Élise!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> After two months of editing chapters 1-16 I can finally start making progress on new stuff! Welcome to United We Stand version 2.0 :D
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. I've worked really hard on the edits and this as the original version just... well, I didn't like it. If you'd like to review this chapter again, please leave an anon. review.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


	18. Sorrow's Human Heart

He ran to Élise, falling to his knees and sliding the last few feet. He gathered her up in his arms, heart pounding a rapid tattoo against his ribs. He heard her groan, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief that she was alive. Worry coiled about is gut regardless, tuning his blood to ice. "Élise? Élise, what's wrong? Élise!" Arno shouted, patting her cheek and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She moaned softly, a pain filled whimper escaping her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes, they were clouded with her agony.

"A-Arno…?" she forced out, a growl of discomfort sounded in the back of her throat.

"I'm here, Élise, I'm here," he assured her, pushing her hair away from her face. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I… I don't know," Élise whimpered, she batted Arno's hand away from her face only to curl into his chest. She grabbed his waistcoat with one hand, squeezing the fabric tightly, another groan escaping her lips. "It hurts, Arno. It hurts so bad. The pain is making me dizzy. I've never had cramps this painful before."

"Alright," Arno said, rubbing her arm. "Just… breathe, just breathe."

"What the hell do you think _I've_ been doing, Arno?" she snapped, only to whimper, pressing herself against him some more. "Make it stop, Arno."

"Shh, it's going to be okay," he muttered. He slipped his arm beneath her knees and her back, pulling her close to his chest he stood up and headed to the bed. There he set her down gently. "Élise, I'm going to go get Helene," he said.

"No," Élise said quickly. Arno ignored her, turning to go but Élise's hand shot out grabbing his and tugging him to a halt. "Arno," she begged, another wave of pain seized her and she groaned, her grip tightening on his. She relaxed a moment later. "It's just my bleeding, don't get Helene over something as trivial as this, I can deal with it."

"Élise," Arno said, trying to stay calm. "You're in pain," he pointed out, "even you admitted this is more painful for you than normal. I need to go get Helene. She understands womanly ails. I don't."

"No, don't get her. Just go get me some more tea, then come lay with me," Élise said, she moaned in discomfort, rubbing her lower abdomen in an effort to sooth her pain. Arno sighed, torn between getting Helene and listening to Élise.

"Alright," Arno muttered, figuring Élise knew her body best, "I'll go get another pot of tea. Peppermint was it?" Élise nodded. "Okay," he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I'll be back shortly."

Arno returned a few minutes later, he paused at the door, setting the new tea pot down before picking up the shards of the old one and putting them on a nearby end table. He grabbed the new one and headed to the tea set he kept by his box of letters, and poured Élise a cup. He headed over to the bed, where she lay. "Élise?" he touched her shoulder gentle.

Élise groaned, a grimace on her face as she shifted, turning her head towards the sound of Arno's voice. She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them. "Hey," she whispered. He gave her a little smile. "Did you bring the tea?"

"Yes, it's right here," he helped her sit up, before handing it to her, "I put some sugar in it, I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," Élise said, sipping the tea. She scooted over and Arno joined her on the bed. "Mm, I love peppermint."

"I'm glad," Arno said, giving her a little half smile, "Élise are you feeling better? Are you sure you don't want me to get Helene?" Élise looked away, blowing on her tea. She sipped, remaining silent. Arno sighed, torn between pressing her and waiting for her to tell him. She took some more sips before handing the cup to him; he set it on the nightstand. He tugged at the navy waistcoat that he wore. "Élise?"

She turned, snuggling against him as another groan escaped her. "Arno, I'm fine," she hissed, rubbing her nose against the soft fabric of his clothes. "It's just my bleeding."

"Élise," he said, a plea in his voice. She grumbled in his arms.

"Arno, I don't need Helene, just stay with me," Élise said, "it already hurts less now." She glanced up at him, noticing his worried expression. "Don't worry," she cupped his cheek, feeling the stubble against her palm, "none of this will kill me."

Arno frowned, looking away, finding something to rest his gaze that wasn't Élise. It bothered him that she was refusing his help. She snuggled against him a bit more, and he reached up to stroke her hair, the other resting on her lower abdomen. "Are you sure you don't want me to get you anything that'll help make it a little bit bearable?"

"Arno," Élise sighed, "all I want from you right now is to shut up and hold me."

"No," Arno said, sitting up and pulling away from her. "Élise, you're in pain."

"It's nothing I can't handle," Élise pointed out.

"Regardless, _I_ don't like seeing you in pain, so I'm going to go and see if I can't get you something to make you feel better," Arno said and slid off the bed. Élise glowered at him, a pout on her lips. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Arno, it's fine," Élise called, sitting up a bit straighter, though she winced. He shot her a glare. "Please, come back."

"I'll be back," Arnos aid and left the room.

* * *

Arno reached the room Helene stayed in within a minute. He knocked and placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot with impatience. He heard giggling on the other side of the door, his frown deepening. "Helene, open up. I need to speak with you!" Arno shouted, banging on the door again.

The door opened to reveal Helene's flushed face, her wavy blond hair mussed, and one sleeve of her dress had slipped down her shoulder. "M-Monsieur Arno!" Helene stammered, trying to discreetly pull up her sleeve. "What brings you here?"

"Helene, make them go away!" another voice said, it was a woman's voice. Arno frowned, pushing the door open further and forcing Helene to back up. The light fell into the oddly dim room. Arno's eyes widened when he recognized Valérie, the top of her dress hanging loose around her waist, her hands covering her breasts. Her eyes became the size of dinner plates when she saw Arno. "A-Arno! Wh-What are you doing here?"

"Look, I don't want to know what's going on," Arno said, his voice terse, and his eyes fixed on Helene. "But Élise is in pain," his expression softened, "all I want is something to make her more comfortable."

"Of course Monsieur Arno," Helene murmured, "what type of pain, if I may ask?"

"Élise says it has to do with…" he stopped, flushing a bright pink, "her uhm…" he waved his hand in a vague gesture, "m-monthly bleeding."

"Oh," Helene's eyes grew wide, " _oh!_ Well, I always use lavender oil, very helpful and it smells nice."

"Do you have any?" Arno asked, sounding a bit hopeful. Helene chewed her lip, glancing about, trying to recall if she had any. They both looked at Valérie when they heard her rummaging in a drawer.

"Here," Valérie said, trotting up to them, her arm covering her naked breasts. She slapped the small jar of oil into Arno's hand. "Take and go." She gave Arno's shoulder a firm shove towards the door.

"Thank you, so I—"

"Just rub it on her stomach or wherever it hurts," Valérie huffed, "no go away Arno! And not a word to anyone!"

Arno sighed, rolling his eyes. "Thank you, again, and of course I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Good," Valérie said, "now you should get back to Élise. I'm sure she needs you."

"Yes," Arno said, giving Valérie a curt nod and headed back to his room.

* * *

Élise sat pouting on the bed, one hand pressed against her stomach, when Arno returned. "I have something to make you feel better," he said walking up to her. She looked away, miffed that he didn't listen. "Élise," Arno sighed.

"I told you I didn't need anything, that I was fine," Élise snapped. Arno looked away, picking at the cork on the bottle of oil, an embarrassed expression on his face. He heard Élise sigh. "Arno," she said, drawing his attention to her, "come here."

He came over, though was hesitant. "Look," he sat down, "Élise, I know you probably think this is nothing but, I'm worried… I don't like seeing you in pain and—"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "No," she said, "I'm sorry. The pain makes my cranky," she looked at the bottle in his hand, "what do you have there?"

"Lavender oil," he said, "Helene said it'll help."

"Lavender oil?" Élise asked, softly, staring at Arno. he nodded, playing at the lose piece of cork. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, giving him a soft smile, "alright," she said, "if you think it'll help."

He gave her a small smile, shifting to face her. "Roll up your shirt," he said. Élise did so, and she hissed when the cold oil touched her skin; the heady scent of lavender wafting up to her nose. Arno, despite being a trained killer, hand such gentle hands. "I'm concerned about you," he said as he massaged the oil into her skin with great care and tenderness. "I understand you're independent and you don't need me to take care of you, but I hate seeing you in hurt or in pain or..." he trailed of, thinking about the day he botched Germain's assassination in order to save her.

Élise sighed, cupping his cheek, her thumb gracing his lips. His tapped the tip of his tongue against the pad of her thumb. Élise gave a little smile, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "I have never properly thanked you for that," she whispered.

"Pardon?" Arno looked up; he stopped rubbing the oil on her belly. Élise smiled, nodding a little bit. "Y-You were thankful?" he asked, completely perplexed about he notion. "You were livid when I saved you. You… you ripped my heart out and stomped on it! You told me if I didn't—"

"I know Arno!" Élise said, seeing the distress and still potent hurt in his eyes. "I know," she repeated, softer. "Yet, deep down I didn't want to die. You… you always protected me… in your own way. You let me do my own thing, allowing me to either succeed or fail at my choosing, yet when I need you or I need something to jolt me out of my rashness, you're there, either physically or mentally," Élise said, "it's one of the things I love about you."

Arno bowed his head, hiding his expression from her as best he could. He resumed rubbing the oil, though most of it had soaked into her skin. "Élise," he mumbled.

She cocked her head to the side, a smile threatening to break loose. "Are you blushing?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"No," Arno muttered, shaking his head a bit more vigorously than he needed to in an effort to dislodge some hair to hide his face. "I'm not."

She snickered good naturedly. "You are too, blushing, Arno!" she poked a teasing finger into his side, watching him squirm away from her. "The big bad Assassin has a heart! Who wou—" she was cut off by a sharp hiss, a hand going to her oil slick belly as she pressed against it.

"Élise!" Arno's demeanor shifted, focusing his attention on her. His hands joined hers on her belly. She slapped them away, scooting closer to him, seeking comfort. He slipped his arms beneath her shoulders and scooted horizontally on the bed until her upper back was resting on his lap. "Better?"

"No," she growled, wincing against the pain, "but thank you."

"Élise," Arno whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. A half-smile tugged on her lips and she felt him press against her stomach with his other hand aimlessly rubbing soothing circles.

"Your hand smells like lavender," she said; Arno chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I rubbed _lavender_ oil on your stomach less than five minutes ago," he pointed out, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Does it bother you?"

"No, no," Élise shook her head, only to wince. "I'm just trying to think of something other than the pain." At those words Arno's smile fell and a concern light entered his eyes. "Arno?"

"I… I just feel frustrated," he muttered, "I can't help you. I can't make you feel better. I feel useless, and I don't like that feeling."

"You've already helped me, Arno," she said, "more than I asked for. So thank you." Still the worried expression didn't leave his face. Élise chewed her lip, trying to think of something to bring the smile back to his face. Telling him she'll be fine and that it's normal wouldn't make it better. "Arno," she said, "I never asked you, since whenever we talk about this we always end up… bickering, but… why _do_ you want a family?"

His eyes widened and then he gave a dismissively little shrug. "Because I do," he said, sounding hesitant. "Why?"

"Call it curiosity," she said. "And I know there's more to it. I mean, you _had_ to have daydreamed about our lives together, during the long years when I was away in Paris and then after you became an Assassin." She watched Arno flush, and she knew that he had thought about this more than once at various moments of their lives. "So, tell me, come on."

Arno sighed, puffing out his cheeks. "Alright," he finally said, "I did have this one idea… I think it was just after we promised we'd get married," he stopped looking at her, Élise nodded, urging him to go on, "well… we lived in Versailles, in a house near your father's and we had the most adorable little boy and girl. You were… beautiful seems like an understatement, but you were beautiful when you were pregnant—"

Élise gave a hearty laugh at the thought. "Arno, I'm going to look like a whale when I'm pregnant! Have you seen a pregnant woman? She can't even see her toes and she waddles, with swollen ankles."

"I'll still think you're beautiful Élise," Arno said, he leaned forward and nuzzled her forehead. "Your belly round and soft, our child safe within. I think you'd get excited when the baby starts to kick; you'll come and find me just so I can feel our child kick."

"Me complaining about my lower back and sore feet, the heartburn, always having to pee, constipation, tender breasts, always being tired," Élise rolled her eyes, "you dotting on me like a worried mother hen."

"I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you aren't miserable during your pregnancy," Arno whispered. "I love you, it would be the least I could do."

"Arno," Élise said, her voice deadpan, "I'm going to look like a whale. There is nothing you or anyone else can do to make me less miserable."

"I'll do my damnest to make it less miserable for you," Arno assured her, his words spoken like a solemn pledge.

"Thank you," Élise whispered. "Is that it? You just want to be the doting husband to me?"

"Well… n-no…" Arno admitted. "There's more to it than that, but it's…" he shook his head, looking away, "I don't want to talk about it."

Élise pursed her lips together, frowning and finding it very odd he'd avoid telling her something. "Arno," she reached up and brushed her fingers along his jaw. He looked at her. "Tell me."

"Remember last night how I told you I never felt like I belonged to your family?" Arno asked, unable to meet her gaze. She nodded. "Well… I want a family so… so I can finally feel like I belong to something. Even now I don't feel like I belong anywhere, I feel like I don't belong in your life. I'm just the boy you loved as a child and—"

"The man I love now," Élise insisted. "Arno, clinging to the past won't change it. You are a part of my life. Do you want me to spend more time with you? Go on dates? Where it's just you and me and we don't think about our orders?"

"I…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I don't know."

"Arno," Élise said, she winced again, "I don't know how to help you if you don't tell me what's bothering you."

"I just… it's because of… I feel like…" Arno stopped, sighing frustrated but more at himself than at her, "I don't know, I can't explain it Élise," he said, "I just know that I don't want to lose you… I _can't_ lose you." He looked away, ashamed at exposing so much of himself to her, "If I lost you, I'd…" he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He found her hand and squeezed it, tightly, as if reassuring himself she was there.

"Arno—" Élise began.

"I bet you're hungry," he said suddenly, in an overly cheerful manner, "I'll go see if Andrée has made any thing for lunch. I'll be back," he said. He lifted her up and set her back down against the pillows, gave her a reassuring smile before he left. Élise sat up a little bit watching him close the door with a soft click.

"Arno."

* * *

The lavender oil did the trick, for the most part. The cramps were still painful, but less so and she was able to take a short nap before someone knocked on the door. "Come in," she called, expecting it to be Arno. The door opened to reveal Weatherall, fumbling with the door on his crutches. "Mr. Weatherall!" Élise said, smiling at him. He smiled back at her and hobbled over to the bed, sitting at her feet. "What brings you by?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing," Weatherall said, patting her foot. "By the expression on your face, I assume you're expecting someone else?"

"I was hoping Arno would come back," Élise sighed, "he went to get me food an hour ago, but he hasn't returned."

"Odd."

"I'm worried about him," Élise whispered. "Freddie…" Élise looked at her teacher, "d-do you think my relationship with Arno is worth it?"

"What do you mean? You clearly love him and he clearly loves you," Weatherall pointed out.

"I know, it's just… how do I put this," Élise grumbled, rubbing her forehead, before looking up at her mentor. "Arno has given so much of himself to me, so selflessly, and I can't think of a moment where I've given myself to him in that fashion in return," she cupped her hands, "I hold his entire heart, and what does he get in return from me? Nothing! I give him nothing for all that he's done for me."

"Well," Weatherall said, stroking his beard, "I can think of _one_ thing that you—"

" _Mr. Weatherall!_ " Élise seethed, her face red as her hair, "I'm not _talking_ about that, of all things!"

Weatherall chuckled, patting Élise's ankle. "I know child, I know," he said, a smile on his face. "I think you're stressing over nothing. Your simple presence is enough for Arno. The fact you chose him over all others is enough of a reward for him."

"It may be enough for him, but it's not enough for me, Freddie," Élise said, "I want to do something to show him how much he means to me."

Weatherall sighed, tugging on his mustache. "Your father came to me once, I think it was shortly after your born, and asked me for advice on showing Julie how much she meant to him. The trick with your mother is that she didn't need material expression of devotion and love, simply being with your father, talking with him, sharing tender moments with him… those were enough for her. Seeing him happy was all she needed," Weatherall said, "in a lot of ways, Arno is like that too. He doesn't need grandiose declarations of love from you, you smiling and being with him… that's enough for him."

"I know, but… if there is something… what could I do?" Élise asked. Weatherall thought frowning as he did so.

"Well, you know him best," he ended up saying. Élise frowned, drumming her fingers on her thigh.

"I got it," she finally said, "I'll take his watch to the best watch smith in Paris and get it fixed, and then I'll take him on a romantic boat ride along the Seine and give him the watch, I may be able to get a nice picnic packed as well," Élise preened, "I did miss his birthday after all so it'll be nice."

"There you go," Weatherall said, "I'm sure he'll appreciate your efforts. Remember Élise it's not the gift but the thought behind it."

"I know," Élise said, she sighed, bit her lip before swinging her legs off the bed. "I'm going to find Arno."

"Shouldn't you stay in bed?" he asked. "I'm sure Arno will come back shortly."

"Freddie," Élise sighed, "I'm having womanly pains, I get womanly pains every month, they just hurt more than normal this time for reasons beyond me. This doesn't mean I need to lay in bed all day like an invalid," she made a face, glancing at this stump, "no offense."

Weatherall chuckled good naturedly. "None taken, Élise," he said. She smiled, slipped off the bed and headed to find Arno.

* * *

She found him in the kitchen, staring out the window. The afternoon light cast a golden glow about him. Her heart swelled with love and pride, knowing he was hers. Confidently, Élise walked up to Arno, side stepping the blushing maid Iris, who carried a glass of milk. She glanced over her shoulder, noting the sadden expression on the girl's face when Arno lit up upon seeing her. "Élise," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. Élise smiled when he slipped his hand in hers. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you?" Élise said. Arno glanced out the window. "Arno?"

"I was thinking," he mumbled. Élise arched her brow, incredulous.

"Thinking? In the kitchen?" she asked, and that's when she noted the plate of untouched food near his elbow. Everything suddenly clicked: the food, Arno's sudden evasiveness, why he was in the kitchen of all places. "You heard me talking to Freddie, didn't you?"

"The door was open and I… I didn't stay for long and—" Élise cut him off, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

"Arno," Élise said, pulling away to look at him, "I love you." Those simple words caused him to smile and Élise felt her heart lighten. "And I just—" she stopped, pain suddenly lacing through her abdomen. She shook her head, trying to ignore it, but she swayed, her knees giving out. "A-Arno," she forced out.

His reaction was reflexive: arms slipping around her and pulling her close to chest, soft words of encouragement as he helped her regain her footing, a worried expression on his face, love and concern mixed in his brown eyes. She clung to him, like a drowning man clings to a rock in a river. "Élise?" he asked, a tint of horror in his voice.

She was about to ask what was the matter, when she looked down and saw the splattering of blood between her feet, then the dark stain on her trousers. Her eyes widened, shocked at the amount of blood. None of her monthly bleedings caused this much blood. Fear coiled itself up her spine and she clung to Arno. She suddenly wanted her mother. "I… I…"

"Shh," Arno cooed, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest, heedless of her blood. "We'll figure this out," he turned to Iris, who for some reason was still in the kitchen holding that god damn glass of milk, "Iris go get Valérie and Helene. Tell Helene to meet us in our room, and send Valérie for the midwi—"

"Arno, I don't need a damn midwife!" Élise snapped.

"Yes, you do," he growled, "enough of this Élise. Something is wrong. There is too much blood. Even I know that! Iris, tell Valérie to get a midwife."

"Y-Yes, m-monsieur," the girl stammered and set the glass of milk down before rushing off. Élise pouted, only to grimace against a fresh wave of pain.

"Arno it hurts," Élise whimpered. He gave her a sympathetic look as he rushed back up to their room. The door was ajar, and Élise silently thanked the fact that Weatherall was unable to effectively close doors any long. Arno bulled his way through, and headed towards the bed, setting her down. He froze for a moment, trying to think of what to do next.

"Where's that damn bottle of oil," he muttered, looking around. He found it, and yanked her shirt up, pulled the cork out with his teeth, dribbled some on and began to rub it in. Élise groaned, rolling on to her side and curling up.

"I'm ruining the sheets," she muttered, giving him a weak smile.

"Sheets can be washed," Arno said, "or replaced."

Élise looked at him, noting the features of his face: his pursed lips and worried furrow of his brow, the tightness of his jaw.

"Mademoiselle!" Helene cried, rushing into the room. She went up to Élise and Arno, noting the dark stains on Élise's trousers. "Oh, mademoiselle, I'm so—"

"Don't." Élise hissed, glowering at Helene. "Don't."

"But Élise," Helene protested, grabbing Élise's hand, "I told you, all the signs pointed to you being pregnant. Your tiredness, breast tenderness, sudden dislike of certain foods, the dizzy spells."

"Élise?" Arno looked up at Élise then, confusion in his eyes. Élise scowled at Helene again, upset that the woman said that. "A-Are you pregnant?"

"No!" Élise snapped, more at Helene than at Arno. He was staring at her oddly belly, and Élise knew he was imagining the child within and worrying about the safety of that child. "Arno," she whispered.

"Élise, wh—"

"It doesn't matter now," Helene interjected, sorrow and bitterness coating her words, "Élise is suffering a miscarriage."

"Are you certain?" Arno asked. Helene sighed, looking away.

"I'm very confident," she said, "my cousin suffered one, this is very similar to what she experienced."

"Helene for the last time, I'm not pregnant!" Élise growled, shook her head with a roll of her eyes, "Was pregnant… whatever."

"Élise why didn't you tell me?" Arno asked. "I… I would've... I wouldn't've minded a child; I would've supported you regardless. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm not!" Élise scowled at Helene, "You'll both see when the midwife gets here. I wasn't pregnant and there is something _else_ wrong with me." Élise held Helene's gaze, the young woman's grey eyes were stormy with angry frustration at her denial.

Truth was, Élise always knew she was pregnant. The moment she started to notice her breasts were tender, weeks before her bleeding was due, she knew. She remembered one of Madame de la Mare's daughters asking about babies and pregnancies. _A woman always knows, Françoise,_ Madame de la Mare had said with a twinkling smile.

During that terrible week after she told Arno who killed his father, she would lay awake at night, thinking of how to tell him, and wondering if she was using the baby to bring him to her. She never did work up the nerve to tell him though. Helene voicing the idea only caused her to delve deeper in her denial of her condition. A child would just complicate the situation she and Arno were in, and she wanted to bring a child into the world where she was able to love and care for it in her fullest abilities; Élise knew in her gut that this wasn't the time for a child. She may have been half convinced that if she refused to acknowledge the fact, the entire thing would go away and she could focus on getting her life settled. _Last time I wished for something my father ended up dead,_ Élise thought.

"Élise," Arno's voice pulled her from her musings, "something is _wrong_. I don't care what you say, pregnant or not. The only way you can bleed _that amount_ of blood is if you got stabbed," he looked at, "and I'm damn sure I'd know if you got stabbed," he quipped.

"I… I don't know," Élise whispered, only to groan and shift, trying to get comfortable. "It feels like I got stabbed."

"Your womb is expelling the dea—" Helene snapped her mouth closed when Arno shot he a furious glare. Arno tore his gaze away and stared at Élise, one had on her head, his thumb stroking her brow.

"It's going to be alright dear heart," he whispered, "I'll be right here. I'm not leaving your side." He kissed her brow, tenderly. Élise felt tears spill from her eyes at his soft declaration.

"I brought the midwife!" Valérie declared as she burst into the room. Élise glanced up at the maid and spotted the tiny woman, with steel grey hair pulled into a tight bun secured beneath her bonnet. "This is Chloé, she's a friend of my mother's."

"What's _he_ doing here?" Chloé asked, eyeing Arno. Élise felt Arno's grip on her hand tighten as he bristled at the rude address.

"I'm her fiancé," Arno growled, "and the child's father. I have every right to be here."

Chloé pursed her lips. "I don't care!" Chloé snapped. "This is _women's business_ ; a man has no place here!"

"With all due respect, madame," Arno said, "but this is just as much as my business as hers and—"

"I don't care," Chloé said. "You need to leave. Men do not need to be involved in this, they do not need to know about this and frankly they don't care about any of this. It's women's business. Now go."

"He is not leaving," Élise growled, shifting with a groan into a sitting position. "I want Arno here. He's stays."

"He is a man, who—"

"Has been by my side my entire life!" Élise shouted her down. "He loves me more than anything and I won't drive him away just because of some outdated backward costume! Arno, stays," she leveled a glower at the midwife, "or you can leave and I'll find another midwife that is more agreeable."

Chloé's face flushed, going from red to purple to white, and finally she relented. "Fine," she bit out, "he can stay. But no other man, understand."

"Fine," Élise acquiesced. "Not like there's another man in the picture," Élise grumbled beneath her breath. She brought Arno's hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles.

Chloé started barking orders to Helene and Valérie, Arno had shifted and managed to wedge himself between her and the headboard while Helene removed her soiled trousers and Valérie went to get some rags to mop up the blood. The midwife rinsed her hands, shoved Élise's thighs apart and began her rather invasive examination. The midwife poked and prodded, slipped two fingers up, pressed on her belly, and examined the sloshed off tissue that had been expelled along with the blood.

Élise was just glad it was over within a few minutes. She was eternally grateful towards Arno, who had stroked her hair and whispered sweet nothings into her ear in an effort to calm and relax her. It helped distract her from the discomfort. The midwife was silent, washing her hands in a bowl of water, while Valérie and Helene situated Élise on the bed. "The bleeding will last about a week, maybe longer," Chloé said ominously. "I'd stay in bed until it stops, easier that way, unless you want to be on a chamber pot the entire time."

"Lovely," Élise grumbled. "Was I… pr-pregnant?"

"Oh yes," Chloé said, "definitely, you weren't terribly far along, five maybe six weeks," she gave Arno and Élise a beady eye stare, "but it's clear you aren't a virgin. It's why you lost the child. The Lord is punishing you," the midwife fixed Élise with a withering scowl, "miscarriages only happened to sinful women."

The words slammed into Élise's chest like a cannonball. Her hands trembled and she spared a quick glance to her belly, at her now empty womb. She thought Arno was saying something to her, but she didn't remember. She thought Valérie and Helene exchanged sympathetic glances with her, but she couldn't really tell. The midwife left, while Weatherall and Noémie came in. Helene going over to inform them.

The world had no sound, no smell, no color, no touch.

Everything felt dead and hollow and morbidly empty.

She laughed. A jerky nervous sound that shattered the dead world and brought her back to reality. She laughed, manically, "I didn't want it. I didn't even want it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft 
> 
> I want to thank you all for sticking with me through these edits. I know it's rough having to see these chapters get changed or disappear because they no longer fit into the grand narrative, but trust me when I say it'll all be worth it in the end.
> 
> I'm committed to giving Arno and Élise the story the deserve, the ending that should have happened. It just takes time and tweaking to get things exactly (or damn close) to how I have it in my head and how it meshes with the game and the canon characterizations.
> 
> So thank you from the bottom of my heart for everyone that continues to read this story. Even if it's construction is fucking weird and all shit. Thank you.
> 
> As for the chapter, it's better. I like it. Next is 100% Arno centric. My beta knows this.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review


	19. House of Cards

Furious, Arno stood up and stalked out of the room after the midwife. He caught up with the midwife, grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around, forcing her up against the wall. "What gives you the right to speak to Élise like that?"

The old woman stared at him, unafraid. "I speak only the truth monsieur," she said primly, "she is a sinful woman. The Lord took her child as punishment for her sins; for having intimacy outside of the marriage—"

"Do you realize that it's my wife — _future wife_ , that you're arbitrarily damning?"

"—bed and whatever else she may have done." She looked Arno up and down. "I suggest you _actually_ marry her before you two attempt to conceive a child again and if she does become pregnant again you tell her to pray fervently. Maybe the Lord will look kindly upon her a second time and allow her to keep the baby."

"Oh of course," Arno rolled his eyes, his tight grip on the woman's boney shoulder never relaxing, "we'll pray alright. Tell me," Arno asked, "when has god ever cared about any of us? Where was god when my mother abandoned me? Where was god when my father was killed? Where was god when Élise's mother was murdered? Where was god when her father was murdered? Where is god now, while the country is tearing itself apart!" He stared at her, frustration and fury in his brown eyes, "Where is god in this moment, as my unborn child is taken from me?"

"He took your child for it was conceived in sin," Chloé hissed, only to jump a moment later when Arno's fist slammed into the wall by her head.

"Get. Out." He hissed, teeth clenched in anger. "Get out _now_ and never set foot in my café again, do you understand?"

"But, what about your fiancée and—"

"I will find another midwife!" Arno thundered, "Get out now!" Chloé glared daggers at him before scampering off. Arno stared at her, shoulders rising and falling with each gasping breath. Something inside of him was breaking, something that was patched together for far too long was starting to give way. "Keep it together," he muttered aloud to himself. He mustn't break, mustn't show weakness. Not now, not when Élise needed him to be strong. Alas, he wasn't sure how much heartache he could bear.

He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder. Instinctively, he flicked his wrists, but he wasn't wearing his wrist blades, in fact he wasn't even in his Assassin robes. He chided himself for being jumpy and turned around. "Weatherall," Arno said.

"Élise's asking for you lad," Weatherall said.

"Oh," Arno blinked, "right, of course," he said with a small nod, hearing Noémie tut at the minor damage he did to the wall. He forced a smile to his lips before entering his room.

He found Élise still on the bed, her hands splayed on her stomach, staring dazed, at the wall. Helene and Valérie were clucking like hens around her. They glanced up, like startled chickens, to eye him as he went to Élise's side. She didn't even seem to register that he was besides her. "Élise?" he asked as he sat down. "Élise." He touched her shoulder, jolting her back to reality. She looked at him, a wane smile on her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, then rested her cheek on his shoulder. "I would've done it myself, but…" she paused, "so thank you."

He watched her play with a loose thread on the quilt. He couldn't see her face fully but she looked lost almost, as if she was trying to avoid thinking about all that had just happened. "Are you alright?" Arno asked. He still didn't like how… invasive the examination was or the fact Élise just swallowed it like bitter medicine.

She nodded. "I'm fine," she said, "I'm still uncomfortable, but it's just like my bleeding. I just have to wait it out."

 _It's not like your bleeding Élise. Your womb is empty during your bleedings, this time… this time there was a child within. Our child. How can you think one is like the other?_ "You really didn't know…" he licked his lips, "that you were pregnant, did you?"

Élise sighed, lifting her head from Arno's shoulder. "I think I should plop myself on the chamber pot, so I don't completely ruin the bed." She patted his thigh. "Move, please."

Arno stared at her, baffled at Élise's evasion. "I tried to tell her," Helene piped up then. "I tried to tell her, Monsieur Arno and she said—"

"Helene," Arno said, a gentle yet firm tone in his voice, "enough." He smirked, a twinkle in his eye, "don't you and Valérie have some unfinished business?"

Helene and Valérie both flushed. "Mood's been shot to hell, though," Valérie muttered, but she snagged Helene's hand and marched her out of the room, "holler if you need anything Arno!" Valérie added before closing the door. Arno chuckled, shaking his head at Élise's baffled looked.

"Valérie's Sapphic?" Élise asked. "I knew Helene was. She got all flustered when I offered to share a bed with her," Élise chuckled, "until I told her we were just going to sleep."

"Apparently." Arno shrugged. "Élise… uh… can we talk?"

"About what?" Élise asked, poking him in the ribs with a finger, "Move, I'm sick of sitting in a pool of my own blood."

"Oh, right." Arno stood up, offering his head, which she took and helped her to her feet, one hand hovering near the small of her back in case she fell. She swayed, her grip tightening on his hand before trotting to the chamber pot, which Valérie had set up between the tub and the fire place. Élise plopped down; pale hands on even paler thighs.

Arno licked his lips.

"What did you want to talk about?" Élise asked, snapping him out of his musings as he came towards her. "Arno?"

"Oh, I, uh… how is the pain? Do you want me to rub more lavender oil on you?"

"I'm fine Arno," Élise said, giving him a smile that didn't reach the corners of her eyes. "You don't need to fret, I can handle this, now that I know what's going on." She gave him a smile, "besides, I've had worse. I suffered broken ribs and a fever. Don't remember much, though."

"A fever? Broken ribs?" Arno asked, aghast. He knelt before her, grabbed her hands, and squeezed her fingers. "Élise… when… when did this happen?"

"Hmm… I think… sometime after the storming of the Bastille," Élise waved a dismissive hand, "don't worry about it Arno. I'm better now. If you want to know more ask Helene or Weatherall," she said. "They probably know more than I do."

"Alright," Arno sighed, dropping the subject. They sat in silence for a while, Arno stroking her knuckles with his thumb before he finally said: "So it's true then," looking at her, "you didn't know you were pregnant." Élise looked away and Arno's eyes widened, realizing that she had known the entire time. "Why, Élise? Why didn't you tell me?" She refused to answer. "Did you really not want the baby? Was that true also?"

Arno waited, until she pulled her hands free from his and cupped his face, thumbs running along his cheek bones. She traced his scar on his left cheek, the _thoughtful_ reminder from the guard that he was a criminal, framed for the murder of a man he loved like a father. "You never told me how you got this?" she asked, tapping below his scar.

Arno puffed his cheeks out as he sighed. "The night your father died," he said, "I was… kneeling beside him, trying to help… when someone shouted murder and the guards rushed me. I tried to explain, but one slammed the butt of his rifle into my face, I heard my nose break, dazed, I tried to stand up but he hit me again, and then I remember waking up in the Bastille."

"Oh, Arno," Élise whispered, "I'm sorry."

"You're avoiding my question," he stated. She looked away. "Élise."

"Yes, Arno," Élise said, annoyance in her tone, "I didn't want the baby, happy?"

"No," he admitted. "Did you—"

"Are you _accusing_ me of doing this to _myself!_ " Élise snapped, eyes widening with disbelief, her hands falling from his face. "How dare you!"

"No, I… I'm not," Arno protested. He hung his head so she wouldn't see how broken he already was inside. "I'm just… I didn't mean to prod or accuse…" he stopped, sighing, "I'm sorry," he muttered, realizing he was making a mess of everything. "I want a family with you Élise… more than anything in the world. I know you don't think it's the right time to have children but… we could've made it work, right? I would've—" Élise pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off.

"It's over now Arno," she said, anger evaporating and her demeanor deflating. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk about this," she gave him a sympathetic smile, "I'm in pain right now, and I still need to worry about finding allies and organizing my ascension to Grand Master and the soirée that follows, but I'm practically bedridden because of this and we're not even married yet." She looked at him, hoping he would understand her side. "Just imagine the rumors that would've spread if the child had survived and—"

"I don't care about rumors, Élise!" Arno interjected, passion flaring in his brown eyes. "That midwife was a mad zealot and—"

"But I do Arno," Élise said. "Please, Arno, try to understand."

He looked at her for several heartbeats before his shoulders sagged and his head hung low. "Right…" he mumbled, "of course you're right." He took a breath and lifted his head, a smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry," he said, "we'll… _I'll_ figure something out. I always do."

"Of course," she said, cupping his chin and using her free hand to run it through his bangs. "Besides, you shouldn't dwell on it. I miscarried, oh well, life moves on. We'll have other chances for a child later."

Her words, the dismissiveness of her tone… it stung him. He held it together though, leaning into her touch slightly. "Of course. Do… uh, do you still need me?" he asked, feeling awkward.

Élise shook her head. "No. I'll call for Helene if I need any help, but I'll be fine on my own."

"Right," Arno said, trying to keep his disappointment from showing. He leaned forward, catching her lips with his. The kiss wasn't chaste, but there was no feeling behind it from either of them. It was mechanical. "Well, I have some things to take care of. I'll probably be back late tonight." Arno said and stood up. He gave her one last faux smile before leaving the room. Arno started slightly when he noticed Weatherall sitting on the floor, crutches crossed on his lap as he maintained a vigil.

"Oh, Arno," the crippled man said, "how's Élise?"

"Alright," Arno mumbled, heading down the hall. He didn't see Weatherall's annoyed frowned, frankly he didn't care.

"Arno, where are you going?" Weatherall asked.

"To get drunk."

* * *

Gunshots. He heard gunshots. Arno looked up, and stared out the window as he listened to the riots in the streets. He didn't even know what the people were rioting about this time. The riots were few and far between recently, but regardless, people still caused mayhem. He picked up the bottle, shook it and frowned when he heard the slosh of wine within it. He drained the rest of the bottle's contents. "Barkeep! Another one!" he shouted from his murky corner table.

"I should cut you off!" the barkeep bellowed, grabbing another bottle of wine and walking over to Arno. Arno looked up at the greasy fat man, handed him a coin in exchange for the bottle of wine and watched him walk away. Arno jabbed the corkscrew into the cork, a moment later there was a soft _pop_ as the cork was freed. He guzzled the wine greedily.

He sighed and set the bottle down. "Cut me off, ha! I'd just steal a keg if you did," Arno muttered, tone bitter. He looked at the bottle, it wasn't Bordeaux nor any of the good vineyards he preferred. A cheap local brew. Serviceable in his plight. He took another long swallow before setting the bottle down. Groaning he buried his face in his hands. "What am I going to do?" he muttered.

Élise didn't want the baby. By all accounts she seemed calm and unaffected by the miscarriage. He had pass Jean-Jacques on the way out of the café earlier, and while the big Assassin offered him his sympathies, he also told Arno to buck up, that he and Élise could have other children later.

Arno scowled as he recalled his friend's words. It wasn't the point that they could have other children. He wanted _this child_ , not another future child. "We could've made it work," he sighed. He took the bottle and guzzled some more wine. It only tasted sour on his tongue. He hadn't eaten since… fuck, he forgot when he last ate. His wine-filled belly may be why his head was swimming. He should eat something. He didn't feel much like eating though.

A shout came from outside, causing Arno and the other patrons to look up. A few people rushed passed the windows, but whatever the people were shouted about didn't appear. Arno huffed, pulling bottle of wine closer. There was a rough sound of the bottle going over the wood. He lifted the bottle to his mouth, the glass cool against his sensitive lips and took another long swallow. The alcohol burned a trail down his throat, searing its way into his gut, where dread coiled up like a serpent. He pulled the bottle away with a sigh; wiped his lips with the back of his hand, staring out into the gloomy gloaming of the tavern.

The pain of losing his child was starting to numb, yet the pain of his father's lost was bubbling up, oil-slick and clingy. If he closed his eyes he could see the sunshine of that December afternoon, feel the crispness in his lungs with each breath, the warmth of his father's hand around his… hear Élise's alluring giggle. "Shit," Arno muttered, shaking his head. He took another swig from the bottle, belched obnoxiously, and rubbed his nose with a sniff. He rubbed at his eyes. Someone coughed in the opposite corner. Arno didn't want to think about the death of his father, so he drank some more to numb those memories.

The bells of Norte Dame knelled brassily in the evening air. He counted them. Eight. Eight dongs from the bell towers. "I should head home." He was almost out of what little money he had on him and he was hungry. Arno frowned. He didn't want to go back home. Going back meant he had to face the reality that his father was dead, that Élise's father was dead, that while they accepted him back into the fold, the Assassins still didn't care for him. Going back meant realizing that there had been an ever widening gap between him and Élise since Germain's death, the chasm rapidly expanding when the found the Apple. They hadn't been able to bridge it. Now the miscarriage, the fact he wasn't going to be a father, that Élise didn't want the baby in the first place.

"No," Arno shook his head, "no." Better he stay here, tucked up in his gloomy corner in a filthy tavern with his bottle. The wine will eventually drown his sorrows or kill him, either one would be preferable to the miserable catastrophe that is his life. He took another swig. When he was done he sloshed the wine around, it was nearly empty. Again. He heaved a great sigh, mind wandering aimlessly. It settled on the dying memories of Élise. Her laugh, her smile, the taste and feel of her skin, her soft husky cooing while he settled himself between her thighs…

Arno frowned. He didn't need to be thinking about sex, didn't want to be thinking about sex. That crazy midwife said sex out of marriage was a sin. Expressing his love for Élise in a physical manner was a sin. He growled, pounding the table. A sharp pain shot up his arm, he blinked and stared at the cut, then at the triangular piece of broken class. "Shit," he muttered, wiping it away and looking at his hand. The cut wasn't deep and he brought it to his mouth, sucking at the rivulet of blood. He pulled his hand away, looking at the blood welling up against. "Élise is probably worried about me," he muttered.

_She's not._

Arno drew back a bit, frowning. The voice was his own, though darker, crueler. It wormed its insidious way up from the oily blackness that coated his soul, to whisper darkly into his ear.

 _Why would she worry about you? The man that murdered her father with his indolence. You're probably the reason she lost the baby in too!_ the dark voice said, hissing words of rancid honey. Arno frowned, finished off the bottle of wine.

"Barkeep, I need another!" Arno yelled, waving the empty bottle over his head. The fat greasy barkeep rolled his eyes and pulled another bottle off the shelf before heading over to Arno's dark little corner. Coin in exchange for wine.

"No more tonight, monsieur, you leave after you're done," the barkeep told him. Arno just glowered at the man as he opened the bottle. He took several long swallows, hoping to drown out his inner thoughts.

 _Why do you even deserve to be a father? You're the reason your own father is dead. If only you had stayed put, he would still have been alive. You could have prevented Shay Cormac from butchering your father. But no, you had to be a disobedient little shit and go chasing after Élise. Look what that got you? Your father's corpse at your feet._ The wine fed it, encouraging it to uproot more of Arno's darkest memories. Arno remembered this voice from last time, yet it was different now. Stronger even, like a dragon gorged on all his evil thoughts he stored in his heart.

Gasping, purple wine dribbling down his chin, Arno look about the twilit tavern. The dark voice whispered to him in a rapid hiss, telling him all of his past mistakes, all the things that were his fault. He tried to drown it in wine. Alas, the wine only fed it, made it grow. Before he knew it the bottle was empty. "I should head home," Arno muttered, staring at the empty bottle. "Barkeep! I want another!" Arno shouted, waving the empty bottle.

"No," the barkeep said, marching over to Arno and hauling him to his unsteady feet. "No, more. Now you get going!"

"I'm not causing any problems, barkeep," Arno said as he fumbled for his coin purse. "I have more coin."

The barkeep arched a brow but shook his head. "No. You've had more than enough. Now go! I'm sure you have a wife and a gaggle of brats waiting for you at home." The man patted him on the back and went back to his work.

Arno stared at the ground. His shoulders drooped, he had no wife and no child waiting for him at home. He had nothing waiting for him. "Élise," he breathed. He had her. She was waiting for him, right? She was worried about him, right? She wanted him to come home, right?

_No. She's not. Why would she be. You're nothing but a burden to her. Always wanting her attention. She's probably relieved you've been gone so long. She probably wouldn't care if someone found you dead in the ditch the next morning._

Arno frowned. Threw the bottle down, pleased that it shattered. "Hey!" the barkeep shouted, but Arno was already stumbling his way out the door.

* * *

Arno lurched through the streets, grumpy that the barkeep had cut him off and that Élise probably wasn't even waiting for him back at the Café Théâtre. He swayed, the world spinning like a child's top. He leaned against the grimy alley wall; his stomach was plotting a revolt. He swallowed several times, he could taste the bile in the back of his throat and the salvia pooling in his mouth.

Groaning, he wobbled on. Mud squelched beneath his boots. He long forgot where he was. Agonizing moans and groans, cries for food, for coin, echoed in Arno's ears as he made his bumbling way down the alley. He stopped, spat on the ground, before he undid the buttons on his trousers and pulled out his cock. He sighed, pissing in the alley, the yellow urine splattering in the mud. He laughed softly, though there was nothing funny about peeing in the alley. He shook himself when he was done, then tucked himself back into his trousers and continued on his way.

He made it back to the Café Théâtre. Arno stared at the building. He could smell the Seine, the great river at his back. He looked up at his room, a single candle was burning. His heart leapt. "Éli—" his stomach decided to revolt then. He did an about-face, leaned over the side and vomited on to the bank of the Seine. He coughed, which turned into a gag and he heaved again. The rancid mix of sour wine and bitter bile rushed out in a torrent from his mouth, a bit from his nose.

Stomach empty, he slumped to his knees groaning and rested his forehead against the cool stone. He rubbed at the tears that leaked out from the corner of his eyes. Grunting, Arno pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the stairs that lead to the courtyard. He fell against the gate. It gave a metallic squeal as it opened. Panting, he ascended the stairs, crossed the courtyard and crashed into the glass door. "Élise…" he breathed, weakly slapping the glass. "Élise… open… open… dear god…" he was going to vomit again. He heaved, and clamped his mouth shut, swallowing forcefully. "Élise!" he shouted, somehow mustering enough strength to do so. He squeezed his eyes shut, heard the muffled sound of his name and the sound of a key in a lock. The window creaked open.

"Arno?"

He scrambled passed Élise, trying to hold down another onslaught of vomit. He fell to his knees before the chamber pot that was still besides the tub. He heaved and threw up again. He clung to the chamber pot. He shook in between heaves, trying to ignore the stink coming from it. He'll get Iris to empty it tomorrow morning, if he remembered. He heaved again, more vomit spewing from his mouth. A cool sweat dribbled from his forehead and he heaved again.

He stared at the stinky gaping hole in the seat of the chamber pot. His stomach seemed to have finally settled and he spat the last of the bile and sour wine out of his mouth. He sniffed and felt the burn of stomach acid in his nostrils. "Arno, c'mon, get up. Drink this," someone told him, pressing a cup against his cheek. He stared at it. It took him a moment to realize it was water. "Drink it Arno."

It took him a moment to figure out what was going on and where he was. He turned and saw Élise's wrathful expression. "Élise?" he asked. Her scowl deepened.

"You stink like wine," she noted. He stood, accepted the water, and took a sip. He sloshed it around in his mouth, before swallowing with a grimace. He down the rest of it in two gulps. "Where have you been all this time?" she asked, took a breath and groaned when she smelled the wine wafting off of him. "Have you been drinking this entire time?" He gave a curt nod, trying to keep his balance. Why was standing so difficult? "Dear god, Arno, how much have you had? How did you even make it home?" she looked him up and down. "I'm surprise you didn't drink yourself to death!"

"Drinking," he said, holding up one finger, "is an art Élise."

"Oh a pox on the entire industry!" Élise snapped. "How much have you had Arno!"

He frowned, confused about what she was talking about then it clicked. "Oh." He pressed his fist to his lips, cheeks puffing out as he burped silently. "One bottle."

"Liar," she hissed, glaring at him. "How many Arno? Tell me."

He struggled to focus on her, to comprehend her words, the concern he heard in her voice. It didn't make sense, why was she worried about him? He felt the sudden urge to piss. He turned away from her, undid his trousers and pissed into the chamber pot.

"Arno, I don't like being ignored,' Élise said. "Talk to me, _now_."

"I don't know why you care about how much I had," he said as he finished peeing. He swayed slightly as he turned. She reached out to steady him, but he batted her hand away. He scowled when she rolled her eyes.

"I care," she said, "because I love you, idiot. I don't like seeing you like this."

"Oh," Arno said, "you care about me do you?" She gave a nod; he gave a bitter laugh in reply. "You care about me? What about our child? The one you're…" he stopped in his tirade, frowning for a few moments, "miscarrying," he finally said.

"Arno…" Élise whispered, then rubbed her face with her hands, "this has nothing to do—"

"This has _everything_ to do with it Élise!" Arno snapped, glowering at her. "I wanted a child. I wanted to be a father! Yet, you just… you didn't even have to decency to inform me until you were _miscarrying_ _my child_!" he stared at her. "Are you really that ashamed of me? Are you that ashamed of our love? Can you really not stand the fact that _I_ fathered your child? Do you even want me as the father?" He looked at her, his expression frigid. "Or is it because I'm an Assassin and you can't bear the thought of having an _Assassin's_ child?" He held her gaze. "The child that you killed."

Élise's eyes widened for a split second. He blinked and her fist was coming towards his face. He felt a sharp pain in his jaw, lost his balance and hit his head on the floor. The last thing he remembered was Élise standing over him and then blackness.

* * *

He woke the next day, groaning and shying away from the light. His head felt like a cannonball. Someone was nudging him. He squinted. "Élise?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Sorry to disappoint lad," a masculine voice said, "but it's Frederick Weatherall."

"Fuck," Arno muttered, pulling the blanket over his head. Realization dawned on him, and he began to assess his surroundings. He was naked, with a few blankets over him and a pillow for his head. He was also lying on the floor of his room. He had no memory of how he got here.

"Did you have enough to drink last night?" Weatherall asked, as Arno slowly got to his feet, wrapping the blanket around him.

Arno groaned, as he padded his way to the bed and crawled in. "I think so," he mumbled. He pressed the heel of his palm against his temple. "I wish I knew when enough was enough." He ran his hand down his stubbly jaw, only to wince. He poked around, wincing several times. Realization came slowly. "How… how did I get a bruise here?"

Weatherall sighed, hobbling to the bed and sitting down. "Well, Arno," he said, "you said some—" he stopped, as the door opened to reveal Élise.

"Élise!" Arno said, expression brightening. It withered when he saw her scowl. "Élise?"

"Well, I see _you're_ awake," she said, "Freddie when you're done. I'd like to speak to you about business."

"Of course Grand Master," Weatherall murmured, and watched his protégée leave. "You need to fix this Arno."

"I would," he said, "if I knew what I did."

"What do you remember?"

"Uh… the last clear memory I have was sitting at a tavern. I think dusk was starting to settle in. After that everything becomes vague and fuzzy. I don't even remember coming home." The memories from the previous day trickled in. Slow at first, then more and more as the minutes ticked by. "Is it… is it real? Did… did it really happen?" he licked his lips, almost afraid to voice it. "Did Élise really miscarry?"

"I'm afraid so." Weatherall gave a solemn nod.

Arno's shoulders sagged. "I… I didn't know she was pregnant. I would've supported her, taken care of her and our child. I love her. I'm sure Trenet would've given me archival duty or something if I asked for it so I can be close at hand if Élise needed me." Arno put his face in his hands. "This is all my fault. I got her pregnant. If I had just been more careful."

"We all make mistakes Arno," Weatherall said. "Miscarriages happen. It's nothing to become celibate over."

"But I did this!" Arno said, looking up at Weatherall. "I… I got her pregnant in the first place and… if I had just controlled myself she wouldn't be suffering, this wouldn't've happened."

"Arno—"

"I did something when I came home," Arno said, rubbing at his bruised jaw, "something to cause her to hit me. What was it? What did I say?"

"I don't think you should… you must remember you were drunk and—"

"I have to know!" Arno gave Weatherall a pleading look. "Please tell me."

Weatherall sighed and rubbed his stump. "You asked her if she… was ashamed of you, of the love you two have for each other, if she was embarrassed by the fact she was carrying an Assassin's child," Weatherall took a deep breath, watching as Arno's face filled with horror, "you accused her of killing the child."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Here you go. Let me go die in a corner now.
> 
> This isn't the best chapter I ever produced but it's decent. It was a very hard chapter for me to write because it's so painful and poor Arno. Alcoholism is something a familiar with as my maternal grandmother suffered from it.
> 
> I promise things will get better. It's just they have hit a low point. Stick with me and you'll see. Hopefully by chapter 35 they'll be welcoming their daughter: Charlotte Françoise into the world.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> Nemo et Nihil
> 
> PS: I also got a tattoo


	20. Lost in Paradise

_I have nothing left! And all I feel is this cruel wanting. We've been falling for all this time... And now I'm lost in paradise — Evanescence_

* * *

 

The winter of his ninth year was frigid and the pond on the de la Serre estate froze over. He and Élise had discovered the ice was thick enough for skating and insisted on parking in that wintertime activity. For once in their play, Élise was being the cautious one and he the daring; he skated to the middle of the pond where the ice was thinnest. He remembered hearing a loud crack, Élise's scream and then a bone piercing cold. He flailed a bit at the surface, Élise screaming for help and he remembered seeing her father running towards the pond also shouting. He slipped beneath the frigid water, gulping a lungful in an attempt to scream.

He didn't remember much after that, though when he came to he saw Élise and M. de la Serre hovering over him, worry etched clearly on their faces. "Get him inside and by the fire, quickly!" M. de la Serre had said. Arno didn't remember much, he was told he suffered a terrible fever, with Élise never leaving his side. He thought he saw his father once, standing in the doorway talking to M. de la Serre, but he probably was imaging things.

Hearing how cruelly he spoke to Élise in his intoxicated state the night before, Arno felt like he plunged back into that frozen pond. He felt physically sick or that could just be his hang over. He coughed several times to suppress the gag reflex. "Dear god… did I…" he looked at Weatherall, who gave a solemn nod. Arno ran his hands over his face, threaded his fingers through his hair. He felt disgusted with himself. Dirty even, as if he could never get clean no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin.

His tears fell onto the slate colored blanket, he felt numb yet his hands shoo. "H-How—" he cleared his throat when his voice cracked, "how do I fix this?" Arno asked.

Weatherall puffed out his cheeks. "Well," he said, "an apology is always a step in the right direction."

"An apology won't fix anything!"

"No," Weatherall agreed, "I never said it would. I said it would be a step in the right direction. Clear the wax outta ya ears lad."

"Then how d—"

"I'll inform you if I ever figure out the mind of Élise de la Serre," Weatherall snapped, "until then, I do know that sitting here and feeling sorry yourself won't fix anything between you and Élise."

Arno allowed the old man's words to sink in. He sighed. Weatherall got up and hobble off. Arno got out of bed and dressed. He tied a red cravat around his through and gave a few sharp tugs on his navy waist coat to get the wrinkles out. He fingered a brass button wondering if he should get them polished at some later point. He left the room determine to find Élise.

He found her sitting in the private dining room the café had adjacent to the stairway that lead down to the Sanctuary. She was sitting there, drinking coffee and looking over some documents. The room was quiet, the voices of the breakfast customers muffled by the walls. Not for the first time, Arno wondered who decided on the particular pieces of art in the room. "Élise?" he asked, drawing her attention from her work. "How are you doing?" He sat down, clasping his hands before him.

She grimaced. "Still bleeding like a stuck pig. Noémie is a godsend as she fixed something up to allow me mobility without leaving a trail of blood."

"Good." He unclasped his hands and began to drum them on the table, trying to decide how best to approach the subject.

"What do you want Arno?" Élise asked, sounding exasperated. Arno grimaced, seeing how Élise decided for him.

"I wanted…" he paused as he gathered his thoughts, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior and comments last night." A pause. "I'm sorry, Élise." He put his hand on hers, his expression softening.

Élise stared at him for several long unbearable moments. He shifted, nervous, hoping that it at least would assuage some of Élise's hurt. He swallowed, his nervousness morphing into frustrated impatience; she was like a cat sometimes, for he could never puzzle out what she was thinking.

"Thank you for the apology," Élise finally said. "I appreciate it, but… Arno, I have my broken order to deal with, no thanks to you and your effective hunting of Templars—"

"They would've killed you! Seen you dead like they saw your father dead" —Arno leaned forward— "I saw Germain and them plotting your death!"

"Regardless you still did  _it!_ " Élise said. "My order is broken because of you. I only needed Germain dead. The others I would've been able to turn to my side."

"I don't think so, Élise. You didn't see their memories. I did. I know and—"

"Of course, you did Arno," Élise scoffed, "more of your special mystical Assassin powers am I right? The ones you can't explain because you don't know how they work? Did you really track Bellec with your 'eagle vision' or did we just wandered around Paris following particularly adventurous sewer rats?"

Arno snorted, rubbing his temples with his hand. Not for the first time he felt like there were two Élise's: one he knew and another he didn't. He wished he knew which one he was speaking to. "Élise that's not fair."

"My father's death wasn't fair," she snapped. "I have things to do Arno. I have an ascension ceremony and soirée to plan and I need to assert my control as Grand Master over what remains of my order and quickly." She glared at him, blue eyes ice cold. "Only  _then_  will my father truly be at peace." She went back to her paperwork. "In the meanwhile, I don't have time to play house or discuss your problems with you."

He tensed, hand curling into a fist before he forced himself to open it and lay it flat on the table, his shoulders sagged slightly. "Élise," he said, his voice measured. "I came here to try and make amends because I love you and I'm ashamed and horrified of my actions"—he looked at her— "next time I'll think twice about apologizing since it seems I just get it thrown back in my face." He opened the door, pausing in the doorway. "There's something different about you. I feel like at times I know two different women. The Élise I love and grew up with and fought alongside and the Élise that— is cold, ruthless, and cares only about revenge." He left, though he could feel her cold glower on the back of his neck as he closed the door.

The latch clicked, a shout, the shattering of china and hurt sobs echoing behind the closed door.

* * *

 

Arno pushed his way through the crowded café, to the counter where Julian prepared the coffee and tea and handed out pastries still warm from the kitchen. Arno thunked his forearms onto the counter, startling the man. "A pot of coffee, Julian." Arno pinched the bridge of his nose. The laughter and the chatter only increased the pounding pressure in his head. Maybe, he should go to his room, at least up there it was quieter.

"A pot, monsieur?" Julian asked, staring at Arno with a flummoxed expression.

"Yes, a pot!" he snapped, he was in no mood to be questioned. He took a breath, held it, and slowly let it out. "Please, Julian, a pot of coffee."

" _Oui_." Julian went about fixing a pot of coffee for Arno. He leaned against the counter, wincing every time Julian banged or clattered. He felt something warm against his elbow. "A pot of coffee and a cup," Julian said. "As requested."

"Thank you," Arno said, taking the offered items and heading to a seat in the corner between two windows. The sunlight would have trouble striking his eyes if he sat there. He flopped into the chair with a sigh, and pour himself some coffee and drank it down in two gulps. He poured another cup, this time savoring it. He held it in his hands, taking small sips, thinking about the recent events.  _Later, I'll talk to Élise again later._  He sighed, watching his breath create ripples across the dark surface of the coffee. He wasn't paying attention when Élise's crippled mentor came and sat down opposite him.

"Mind if I share a cup with you?" Weatherall asked. Arno set down his cup, rubbing his face with both hands, groaning. "You don't have to be miserly with your coffee Arno." Weatherall shrugged his shoulders. "Only asking a question. No need to get huffy."

"I'm sorry," Arno grumbled. "I just… long night and—"

"I understand. Don't need a lecture," Weatherall said. "Fair enough."

"Thank you Weatherall," Arno said, giving the man a tiny smile. "My head is killing me." Arno noted the colorful dresses of the merchants' wives, the earthy tones of the fishwives and bakers' wives. The board shoulders of labourers and the peacock dress of the merchants themselves.  _Just traded one aristocratic class for another less haughty one,_  he thought and then smirked to himself.  _Cynicism doesn't become you dear boy,_  he heard de Sade coo. Outside he could hear the babble of people, a riot across the Seine going on, even faint gunshots.

"You don't need to call me Weatherall."

Arno blinked at him, flummoxed. "Pardon?"

"You can call me Freddie," Weatherall said. "I insist, being called Weatherall makes me feel like I'm some sort of soldier."

"I'm not going to call you Freddie; Élise calls you that." Her name tasted bitter on his tongue. He frowned. Took another sip of coffee to wash it down.

The old man snorted. "Well then"—he paused— "what about Fred then?"

"No." Arno shook his head. "I knew a Fred once, in Versailles. He got crushed beneath a wagon. Wheel popped his skull like an overripe melon." He shuddered. "I can still hear the wet crunching pop. Had nightmares for weeks, my father… was… he was worried about me."

"Grizzly," Weatherall said, "not something a—"

"Six. I was six when it happened."

"—Six year old boy should see."

"What's a dead boy to seeing your father's body two years later," Arno quipped. "I seem to be attracted to death, considering what I am."

"Touché," Weatherall agreed. "So, instead, I want you to call me Frederick. Can you do that?"

Arno gave a ragged sigh, running a hand down his face and taking a long swallow of his hot coffee. The aromatic black liquid warming a trail down his throat to his stomach. "Fine." Arno said, "I'll call you Frederick."

"Excellent!" the old man rubbed his stump. "I'll just help myself to a cup if you don't mind." He grabbed the pot and poured himself a cup, he took a sip, sighing in contentment. "The English can't make a cup of coffee worth a damn. The French on the other hand…"

Arno snorted. "Of course, the French are better than the English"—he leaned forward, a smirk on his lips as his national pride bubbled to the surface— "What did you expect from a bunch of backwards brutes. I mean, their king renounced the Pope and Church, all because the Pope said he couldn't divorce his lawfully married wife."

"And yet"—Weatherall eyed Arno over his cup of coffee— "It is the French  _not_  the English that behead their king and do away with the monarchy."

Arno frowned. "I'm also Austrian." He took a gulp of coffee as Weatherall chuckled.

"That's your excuse when the French do something that rubs you wrong?" Weatherall asked, a half-smirk on his lips. "Fall back on your Austrian blood?"

"Got me out of sticky situations so far."

"Touché… again," Weatherall said. He gave a wistful sigh. "You and Élise. Sharp as razors, I swear."

Arno bowed his head, his cheeks tinting pink a bit. "If only I had a tenth of her wit," he mumbled.

"Aye, that," Weatherall agreed, raising his cup in salute. "Girl devoured books too. Partly because of her upbringing."

"I read," Arno said, getting defensive, "granted she was… much more studious than I was. I spent most of my days getting into mischief with her instead of burying myself in books. I still don't know how she managed to get good marks when most of the time we were given for studying we went off and found mischief." He smiled. "She got us in  _and_  out of trouble."

"There is a lot she's kept hidden from you," Weatherall said, his voice softening. Arno looked at the coffee, mulling over what Élise had told him in recent days about her father's intentions for him, the man that murdered his father, how different his life could have been if only she told him the truth. "Arno?"

"What do you think about this"—he gestured to the stage where a debate was going on, he wasn't sure about what— "new calendar and telling of time?"

"Horseshit," Weatherall said, blowing at his mustache. "Once the country settles, and you still have this goddamn calendar, how will the King of Prussia be able to communicate with whatever damn government you French decide on?"

"Fair point," Arno agreed. "I don't like it either." He took another sip of coffee. "How did you lose your leg?"

Weatherall reached beneath the table to rub his stump. "That's a tale you should ask Élise."

"But it's  _your_  leg that's missing not hers."

"Aye," he agreed, "but I'd still have both legs that God gave me if it wasn't for her."

"Are you accusing her of—"

"I'm not accusing her of anything," Weatherall said, "merely saying her involvement in the event was a contributing factor." He pursed his lips in thought. "She can be reckless as you know."

"Vicious too when her temper is high." Arno swallowed the rest of his coffee, poured himself some more. "I try to not take what she says in anger too personally but—"

"It's difficult at times." Weatherall nodded. "I know Arno. She knows exactly where to strike. She's always been good at that. Finding the weakness in someone's guard."

Arno sighed, rubbing his cheek before resting his elbow on the table and resting his cheek in his hand. "I wonder at times why I love her. Why I did everything that I did for her. I sacrificed my position in the Brotherhood for her. Killed my teacher for her."

"Lemme ask you this," Weatherall said, leaning forward. "Remove Élise. Say she was killed in the coup, but you never saw it. Would you have still tracked down the mastermind behind François de la Serre's murder?"

"Of course," Arno said, sitting up straighter. "That man was… he raised me as his own son—"

"Not exactly—"

Arno waved his hand. "Doesn't matter what I was to the rest of society, he loved me just as dearly as Élise." He looked down. "I… I have to…  _need to_ believe it."

"Understandable."

"But to answer your question, if Élise was removed from the picture… of course I would follow the clues back to where they lead. I probably would have gone against the Brotherhood." Arno bit his lip, thinking on everything that would have been different. "Mirabeau and Bellec would still be alive. Mirabeau would have— No, Bellec would have supported my bid to hunt down Germain on my own, Mirabeau would agree with him. They would have swayed the rest of council."

"So, the end result would be the same then?" Weatherall asked. "You'd've sought revenge."

" _Redemption_ , Frederick," Arno hissed. "I sought redemption. Redemption for my failures. In hunting down Germain, I've redeemed myself."

"In who's eyes?" the cripple man asked. Arno opened his eyes to speak, then closed it and then opened his mouth again.

"It doesn't matter. In both cases my path was set." Arno downed his third cup of coffee. "She told me… a few days after I went to live with her family. That… she told her father to help me. I… she saved my life. I would have been shuffled off to either the streets or the orphanage, my mother was gone and my father had no siblings."

"Arno," Weatherall said, reaching over and patting his hand. "Don't dwell too much on  _why_ , you'll only drive yourself mad. All that matters is that you  _do_  love her."

He nodded, giving a tiny smile. "Yes." He drank the rest of his coffee before standing up, he stretched. "I'm going to try and sleep off the rest of the hangover, then… speak to Élise." He frowned. "Have you… ever—"

"I have," Weatherall said. Arno bowed his head, flushing when he heard Weatherall chuckle. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Élise's mother and I were lovers in a bygone time. She ended up pregnant but lost the baby. I was… heartbroken, to put it lightly. Julie and I began to drift apart after that. That's when François entered the picture, they married and Élise was born soon after."

"I see," Arno sighed.

"The biggest thing you can do now Arno, is be there for her. Support her. You two make excellent lovers, but you two haven't figured out how to be a couple yet. You need to learn to support, make sacrifices and compromises."

"I just want a family… children," he grumbled. "All I wanted was her."

"And you have her, and you'll have the children, in time. Trust her, support her, and continue to love her."

"I'll always love her," Arno said, smiling when Weatherall nodded. "I'll talk to her later then. Maybe I can get through to her."

"Good luck on that one," Weatherall said, raising his cup in salute. He chuckled, shaking his head as he walked away from the table, leaving Élise's teacher alone. He yawned, rubbing the bruise on his jaw. He stopped at the door to the dining room. He heard crying as he left the first time, now though there was only silence.

He sighed, realizing that Élise had dried her tears. The reveal of Shay Cormac's involvement in his father's murder and the miscarriage had marred their reunion after Franciade. He squared his shoulders and knocked on the door, before opening it. "Élise?" he called, as he entered. She looked up at him, red curls falling about her face.

"Arno?" she growled.

He sighed, unsure how to say what he felt. "I'll be here if you ever need to talk," he finally said. "If you need to… I'll be here, I'll just listen."

He thought she looked taken back, then she bowed her head and went back to her papers. She gave a slight nod. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft. He waited a few moments to see if she'll say anything more and when she didn't, he closed the door and left her to her work. He headed up to the second floor and sighed. He should sleep, clear this hangover but thanks to the coffee he had a restless energy.  _A spar will be good. Help me to clear my head,_  he thought and entered the training room.

He nodded to Grisier and reached for a broadsword, he gave is a few experimental swings and was about to engage the dummies when he heard his name. Turning, he noted the novice Assassin. "Yes?" he asked, arching a brow.

"The Council wishes to speak to you, Dorian," the novice said.

" _Merde_." Arno put the sword away. "Tell them I'll be there in a few minutes," he added, walking pass the novice and towards his room, where he changed before going to meet the council.

* * *

 

The council room deep beneath the Café Théâtre was a luxuriously furnished room. A large round oak desk dominated the center of the room, a large globe was off to one side and bookcases bursting with books lined the walls. Smaller desks cluttered with papers, quills and candles gave the room a busy appearance. A few suits of armour stood in the corners not dedicated to the desks. Trenet, Quemar, and Beylier sat waiting for him.

They didn't invite him to sit. "You wanted to see me, Mentor?" he asked, clenching his fists.

"We have heard what happened," Trenet said, "we express our condolences."

Inclining his head, Arno said, "thank you."

"Now that that's out of the way," Quemar huffed. "We can get down to business."

"Hervé," Trenet chided. "Arno." She looked at him, grey eyes cool. "I'm sure you are well aware that Lady Eve poses a threat to both the Assassins and the Templars."

"Her men ambushing us clue you in?"

"This isn't the time for witty quips, boy!" Quemar slapped his hand on the table. "The only reason you are even member of this Brotherhood is because—"

"Enough Hervé!" Trenet shouted. "Arno—"

"I understand Mentor," he said tightly, flicking his gaze to Quemar. The man never liked him since he accused him of Mirabeau's murder.

"As we have no idea who Lady Eve is, we have had very little leads to follow," Trenet said. "Until recently."

"One of our agents recently learned of a duelist club," Beylier continued the explanation, "operated by a mysterious figure going by the name of le Chevalier."

"Le Chevalier?" Arno asked.

"The name means something to you?"

"No, sir, I'm just surprised that considering our distain for all things of the ancien régime that someone would be… bold enough to stylize themselves that way."

"It is curious," Beylier agreed. "This Chevalier is a recent development. We have our theories, a member of what was left of Germain's inner circle or one of the old guard that isn't loyal to the de la Serre family."

"Élise would have told me if there was such a person," Arno said.  _At least I hope she would have._  "Do we have agents on le Chevalier's trail?"

"No," Trenet said, "that's why you are here."

"You want me to enter this duelist club and attract le Chevalier's attention, am I right?" Arno asked, taking a step forward and leaning on the desk.

"Correct," Trenet said.

"It's not that easy," Beylier said. "Le Chevalier doesn't accept anyone into his inner circle, and he doesn't report directly to Lady Eve."

"So, he's a mere pawn," Arno said. "Why chase a pawn when it's the general we seek?"

"Because the pawn will provide the information about the general," Quemar said. "Lady Eve seems to have mastered what Germain did not. Whomever Lady Eve is, is keeping well hidden from both Assassins and Templars."

"Are we sure Lady Eve is a Templar?" Arno asked.

"Are you suggesting a third faction?" Trenet asked.

"I'm not sure," he said, "but if we know so little about Lady Eve, then how are we sure Lady Eve is a Templar?"

"Élise told you she heard the name from a man that moved like an Assassin yet was a Templar," Trenet said. "It's a logical conclusion that whomever Lady Eve is that he or she is a Templar, since another knew of him or her."

"Understandable," Arno said. "What's my mission?"

"To get close to le Chevalier, and hopefully he'll lead you to Lady Eve," Trenet said.

"So don't kill him?" he asked.

"If it can be helped, stay your blade," Trenet said.

"Odds are he is a Templar," Beylier said. "But, do not act without permission from the council."

"And I thought you'd slacken your grip on the leash," he grumbled, "do I need to ask permission to piss too?"

Quemar's face turned purple with rage. "You go too far!"

"That'll be all Arno," Trenet said, quickly defusing the situation. "You're dismissed."

"Mentor," Arno said with a bow, he did an about-face and walked out of the council chamber. A novice stopped him before he left the Sanctuary, handing him the invitation he'd need to enter the duelist club. He frowned, grumbling about it being tonight. "Thank you," he told the novice and returned to the Café Théâtre via a secret passage. He entered his room, collected his weapons, dawn his father's hidden blade and left a note for Élise explaining where he had gone; he headed off to the Coeur des Miracles.

* * *

 

The last time he was here was 1791 when he assassinated le Roi de Thunes. Arno had to admit the Chevalier had spiffed up the place a lot since then. They'd installed wooden bleachers, with a sawdust pit in the middle. Colorful banners hung from the walls, people were already filing in and a few men walked amongst them taking bets on tonight's participants. He squinted, the auras blooming around. Most of them people glowed a neutral white, a few glowed red. He blinked, dispelling the auras, and bit his lip to muffled a groan; his hang over wasn't helping his second sight.

Arno clutched the flimsy piece of paper, from what he could gather by listening to bouncers milling about, all the Chevalier had picked all the participants for tonight's event, all but him. The man ahead of him presented his invitation and the bouncer waved him through. Arno stepped up, swallowed a little at the intimidating sight of the bouncer and handed the man the invitation. The bouncer arched a brow, distorting the scars on his left cheek. "You don't look familiar. You sure le Chevalier picked you?"

 _I was afraid of this._  "Of course," Arno said, "I'm one of the best fencers in all of France. Trained by Charles de Beaumont, chevalier d'Eon, himself — er, herself if you prefer."

The bouncer huffed. "Very well and who are you exactly?" The bouncer rolled his muscular shoulders, his old suit straining at the seams.

"Arno, le Chevalier de Thèlém." Arno gave the man his best smile, tapping the invitation. "It's all there."

"And my brother is the Czar of Russia," the bouncer scoffed. "Get lost."

"The Chevalier is expecting me to participate in this event," Arno said, trying not to lose his patience. "Do you really want to anger the Chevalier?"

The bouncer shook the invitation in front of Arno's face. "The Chevalier didn't invite anyone from Tellum—"

"It's de Thèlém!"

"Piss off."

"Oi! What's the hold up?" someone in the back shouted. Arno glanced over his shoulder than back at the bouncer.

"Surely—" he stopped when a woman dressed in riding leathers, with a sword at her hip emerged from the crowd. Arno studied her, narrowing his eyes to draw up the auras, she was neutral white. Blinking to dispel the auras, he looked the woman up and down. Her hair was a deep black and braided, her chin square and mannish, yet she had high delicate cheekbones and piercing green eyes. The riding leathers accented the mannish shape of her body.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, looking between the bouncer and Arno. "Luc?"

"This shit-eater claims you sanctioned this invitation," Luc said, showing the woman the piece of paper. Arno ground his teeth, trying to ignore the familiarity that surrounded the woman. He swore he could have saw his face somewhere before. The woman took it, looked it over.

"Of course, I didn't," she said, eyeing him, "it lacks my seal."

"Get lost then," Luc said, stepping between his mistress and Arno. He growled, bending his arm, ready to strike with his hidden blade.

"Are you any good?" the woman asked. "Should I grace this false invitation with my seal?"

"I was trained by Charles de Beaumont, chevalier d'Eon," Arno said.

"Name dropping, I see" — she smirked — "I like you. I'll let you fight this round." She drew a knife and slit her thumb, and sealed the invitation with her blood. "Alright smartass, let's see if your fake invitation works." She pressed the invitation into Luc's board chest. "Don't make me regret this," she said and pushed her way back into the crowd, vanishing. Arno couldn't help but watch her go, wondering about her.

Luc huffed, mulling the turn of events over, and glanced at the invitation with the woman's bloody thumb print on it. "Seems the Chevalier  _did_  take an interest in you."

"Don't you me the Chevalière?" Arno asked.

"She prefers the masculine," he said. He waved Arno through. "Go,  _bonne chance_."

" _Merci_." Arno walked through, made a left following the other participants. He studied the construction of the bleachers. The entire system was raised, an empty space beneath the bleachers allowed the participants to wait their turn all the while listening to the cheers, jeers, moans and groans of the people above. He couldn't help but think that so far, this endeavor had been meagerly fruitful, he had at least seen the mysterious Chevalier's face.

When the last man entered, the bouncer came back. "Alright," he said in a gravelly voice. "Lemme explain the rules. You will fight one at a time, if you yield, you lose. If you draw first blood or get your opponent to yield you win. If you're dead…" the man shrugged. "You're dead. The Chevalier will be watching each fight, if you impress you'll be invited back next week. If you don't, you won't. Simple as that." The bouncer looked around. "Any questions?" None voiced a concern and Arno shrank into the shadows. He was thankful for the years of training with Bellec and François de la Serre, he still wasn't good enough to best Élise, but he could give her a run for her money. The bouncer pointed to the first two men. "You two," he said. The two men looked at the bouncer and then at each other before following bouncer to the ring. Arno heard the bouncer bellow their names.

Arno calmly drifted further into the shadows, listening as the men fought in the ring. He could hear the announcer calling out highlights, and from time to time he'd look with his second sight at the going ons above. He folded his arms, shifted from foot to foot. He glanced at his wrist blades. He didn't know if the club allowed hidden weapons.  _Better not chance it,_  he thought and made a mental note to not use his hidden blades.

The crowd of men got smaller and smaller as the night wore on. He pulled his watch out to check the time, and then slipped it back into his breast pocket. He stifled a yawn, only two remain: him and another man. The bouncer came back grabbed the other man and Arno rotated his shoulders as he stepped towards the entrance. The crowd roared as the clang of swords intensified. A gasp, two heartbeats of silence and then the crowd erupted with a cacophonous thundering of boos and hisses and angry jeers. Arno stepped closer to the light and saw another bouncer drag a dead body away. "Alright," the bouncer said. Arno suppressed a startled jump. "You're up." Arno made to move forward but the bouncer held up his hand. "Any extra weapons?"

Arno sighed, unstrapping his wrist blades. He handed them to the bouncer. "I want them back," he said.

"At the end of the night… if you live." The bouncer gave Arno a nasty grin. "Also, what's your name?"

"Arno, le Cheva—"

"Not that!" the man said. "Your fighting name! The name the crowd will cheer for if you win." The man pointed to his soon-to-be opponent. "His name is Tiny."

"He doesn't look that small," Arno quipped.

"It's his fighting name," the bouncer growled, "what's yours?"

"Uh… le Fantôme de la Mort," Arno said. "Does that work?"

"Could've been shorter, but it'll do," the bouncer said and pushed Arno into the ring. "The final fight of the night: Tiny versus le Fantôme de la Mort!"

The crowd roared, some booed while others cheered. The sound was deafening, and he could feel it in his chest. He drew his sword, swinging it to limber up his wrist. The ring smelled of sweat and blood and sawdust. His opponent stood nearly seven feet tall wielding a heavy hand and a half sword, blood dripped from the blade. Arno looked down at his own sword, a schiavona. It looked flimsy in comparison. " _Merde_ ," Arno muttered.

"What was that?" the hulking mountain of a man asked. Arno looked up at man, noting his squinty tiny eyes. He took great deep breaths, like the bellows of a forge; Arno felt small in comparison. "Ya makin' fun of me, tiny man?" the man-mountain asked, his French thickly accented. The giant stalked towards Arno. He backed up, twirling his sword and studying his opponent.

 _Tiny man? I'm not_ that _short!_ "I highly doubt a thickheaded man mountain like yourself could recognize a joke," Arno said, rolling to the side as his opponent swung his hefty sword.

"I don't like being made fun of, tiny man!" the giant growled. Arno snorted, and thrust his blade towards the giant. The giant blocked his strike, which he expected, what he didn't count on was the jarring force of the impact. He felt it all the way in his skull. Arno took several rapid steps back, crouching low. He glanced about the crowd, looking for the mysterious woman from earlier. The giant bellowed, drawing Arno's attention away from the crowd. He rolled, avoiding another strike. The giant grunted, swinging his sword. Arno ducked and dodge, tiring the bigger man out. "Stay still!" the giant cried. "Stop moving."

"Er… no," Arno said, taking a few more steps back. He rolled again. The giant growled, charged, sword held high. Arno swore, and leapt to the left, tucking himself tightly into a ball. He rolled, and popped up to his feet. The giant slammed into the side, the wood buckle yet held, and the big man went down.

"Get him! Now's your chance! Kill him!" came the shouts from the crowd. Arno wiped sweat from his brow, sprinting over to the giant. The giant grunted, pushing himself to his knees. The giant caught him in the face with his pommel. He heard a crunch, tasting blood on his tongue. His vision blurred and pain blossomed in his nose. He stumbled back with a groan, falling onto all fours. He gasped, trying to dislodge the blood and snot in his broken nose.

"Gotcha!" the giant said, grabbing Arno by his hair. He yelped, and clawed at the man's meaty hand. "Not so fast now tiny man." The giant tossed Arno across the ring. Arno grunted as he slammed into the ground. He had enough to tuck his shoulder in to lessen the impact. He pushed himself up with a groan, his vision still blurred, and he struggled to stand. He got to his feet, trying to get his balance. His vision was starting to clear, blood still dripped from his nose. The giant loped towards him. He grunted as the giant grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off the ground. Arno tore at the hand and arm but the giant's grip was much too strong. His lungs screamed for air but it was difficult to breath with the giant's iron grip crushing his throat. "I don't like being laughed at!" the giant raised his sword, and pulled his arm back.

Arno got a lucky. He kicked the giant in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The hulking man dropped him, reeling back from the attack. He groaned, crumpled on the ground, rubbing his throat. He took great gulps of air, looking up at the giant man. Murder was in the squinty eyes of the giant; he hung his head, his sword was on the other side of the arena, his nose throbbed, it hurt to breathe. The giant stalked towards him; the crowd roared, shouting at the giant to finish him off.  _Élise…_

He imagined her face, her smirk when they got away with something, her kisses and touches, the feeling of settling himself between her thighs, the balloon ride and their countless secret touches. The love they had for each other. He gritted his teeth, grabbed a fist full of sand and tossed it in the giant's face.

The giant growled as gritted got in his eyes. Arno scrambled to his feet, rushing to his sword. He slid, grabbing it as he did so. He rolled to his knees and rocked back onto his feet, settling into a crouch. Élise had lost enough in her life, he'd be damned if she lost him as well. He took the moment and struck the giant, slipping into his guard, forcing him to back up to defend himself with the heavy and ungainly bastard sword. Arno ducked a swing, bringing his sword up to block a stroke at his head and kicked the giant in the knee. The joint went side-ways, the giant howled going down. Arno rammed his shoulder into man, toppling him into the dirt. Arno stabbed him in the elbow, crippling him, then he put his foot on the big man's chest. "Yield?" Arno snarled, holding the tip of his sword at the giant's quivering throat.

"I yield! I yield!" the giant stammered, palms up by his head. Arno glowered at the man, before sheathing his sword and stepping away from him. The giant nodded crawling away from Arno as the crowd erupted into a defending cheer and tossed glinting coins at his feet, as he sheathed his blade and waited for the bouncer to come forward. Luc looked him up and down.

"The Chevalier watched your fight." The bouncer pulled out a folded piece of paper. "She wishes to see more of your… intriguing swordsmanship." The bouncer offered Arno the piece of paper. "We'll see you again."

"My weapons?" Arno asked. Luc jerked his head to the exist. "Thank you." Arno walked over to the man, retrieved his weapons. He then headed home, looking forward to a good night's for he had a lot to report to the council tomorrow and hopefully he'll talk to Élise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft  
> Lost in Paradise (c) Evanescence
> 
> So, I'm overhauling chapters 20-25. I like them a whole lot better. Sorry it took so long to get up. I've been in a slump since August, my beloved cat TC died on the 18th of November, school has been rather stressful, and I'll be graduating this spring. Lots going on.
> 
> I am completely grateful to my readers that have remained loyal to this story despite me constantly taking moments out to revise it. I am dedicated to this story, telling a good story, because honestly, I love Arno and Élise that much and I feel they deserve only the best story I can produce.
> 
> Please, I look forward to hearing your thoughts, theories, and headcanons about what will happen next. See you in chapter twenty-one :D
> 
> Save an author; leave a review


	21. Requiem of the Past

It was quiet when he returned, the Café Théâtre closed for the night. Overturned chairs atop the tables, the candle sticks and table clothes stowed away, the stage dark and eerie, almost akin to a black gaping maw. The bar was empty too, Julian having gone home for the night.

He went to the intendant's study, surprised to see Geoffrey still at his desk. "Geoffrey, what are you doing here?" he asked. The old man looked up, his spectacles on the edge of his nose.

"Oh, Monsieur Dorian," Geoffrey mumbled, "back late I see."

"Why are you still here?" Arno asked.

"Looking through the books," Geoffrey said, Arno nodded, looking about the room: in one corner, a desk stood with stacks of books atop it, one door lead to the parlor, the one behind Geoffrey lead to the back courtyard was closed. A cat stood on its hind legs meowing to be let in or for food. Arno to the collection box. He opened it, seeing the glittering coins from the day. He closed and locked the box; he'll collect the money tomorrow.

"Get some sleep Geoffrey, go home," he said, leaving the room and going up the grand staircase. He headed to his room, wondering if Élise was up or not.

"Arno?"

He looked up at the sound of his name, unable to contain his grin at the sight of her. "Élise!" She came over to him and he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss. "What are you doing up? I expected you to be in bed."

"What happened to your face?" she asked, holding the candle stick closer to his face, illuminating the dried blood; he leaned back instinctively with a grimace.

"I had a mission tonight, and uh… got a pommel in the face." He grinned. "They were rather blunt about how much they detested me."

"Did they break your nose/" Élise asked, touching his nose. He winced, pulling away.

"It's tender."

"Sit, let me set it, otherwise you'll have a crooked nose for the rest of your life," she said. Huffing, he sat on the bed with her. She took his nose in her hands, gentle fingers on either side. Bellec had set his nose last time. The cranky Assassin had roughly taken hold of his nose and wrenched it back into place. "All right," Élise said, "on three."

"Right."

" _Un_...  _deux_ " — she yanked his nose back into place — " _trois_."

Grunting loudly, his nose back in place, he shook his head and wiggled his nose. She smacked his hand away. "Thought we agreed on three?"

"Don't touch your nose," she said, nudging his hand away again. "Let it heal."

"You didn't answer my question," he said, watching her cheeks flush. A cat meowed at the door, pawing to get in. He wasn't sure if it was the same one from downstairs or not. The fire popped. He leaned back on his hands, surveying the room. He felt like the room was a mess, especially his desk. It needed to be decluttered. He made a mental note to tidy up the room at some point. He turned his attention back to Élise. "Love?"

"Reading," she said, frowning as the cat's meowing grew louder. He followed her gaze to the unopen book near her side of bed. He nodded. "Is that a problem?"

"No, just wondering," he said, frowning as the cat used its claws on the glass in an effort to get their attention. "Considering how we… this morning and last night." He sighed as he stood up, heading over to the fire, ignoring the cat, who was doing everything in its power to get their attention. The flames soothed his troubled mind, anything was better than reminiscing about what he said and did last night. Suppressing a shuddering, knowing he got brutish and nasty when he was drunk. Anger aside, he knew accusing Élise of intentionally terminating the pregnancy because he was an Assassin was out of line. She would never do that, Élise wasn't that petty or cruel. The cat began to rub against the door, its meows growing in volume. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I said last night… about the baby," he said, looking over to her, then back at the fire. Thinking about their unborn child caused his heart to ache, which awakened the old aches of the loss of his father and François de la Serre. "Funny."

"What's funny?" she asked. The cat began to yowl and paw at the door.

"The night I was thrown into the Bastille, I told the guards I'm no killer," Arno said, "yet I'm an Assassin."

"That's ironic," she agreed, "but I know you aren't a murderer. You didn't kill my father."

"I know." He looked at her, admiring how the fire brought out the copper tones of her red hair, softened the sharp angles of her chin and jaw, the flickering shadows accenting the curves of her hips and breasts. Desire stirred in his belly, but he tamped it down, he was in no mood for sex. "I demanded to see you, wanting to explain to you what happened, hoping you'd be able to use your family influence to get me out."

She smirked. "I don't think you ever told me what happened."

"I don't like thinking about that night. I sometimes think that if… if I left sooner, I'd be able to save him." He shook his head, looking away from her gaze. The fire played tricks on his eyes, one moment he swore she pitied him for still carrying this guilt and a heartbeat later he thought she still blamed him. He gingerly touched his nose, it was swelling. "After you sent me out the window, I snuck out to the courtyard. I heard a commotion, but didn't think much of it at the time. Then I saw a man — your father — stumbling around as if drunk. It's only when I got close did I see it was your father, injured, a hand pressed to his neck, blood seeping through his fingers." He hung his head, the cat's meows grating on his nerves. "I dropped to my knees, trying to help him, that's when the guards jumped me. Sivert had called murder, blaming me so he and Les Rois de Thunes can escape." He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. "They bashed my face" — he touched his scar — "and I came to when they tossed me into the Bastille."

"You tried to help him?" Élise asked, tears in her voice.

He nodded. " _Oui_ , I did. I felt like I was a boy again, helpless to do anything to stop my father's death." He tugged the ribbon from his hair, allowing his locks to fall about his shoulders. He set it on the mantle, before going to the coat rack to take his coat off.

"Arno, there's something I need to tell you," she said. He grunted, to let her know he was listening and he undressed. "About the baby… well… I should have told you this after Germain but—"

"What the hell is up with the damn cat?" he growled, cutting her off and going to the glass door. He yanked it open, glowering down at the cat. The animal trilled, rubbing against his leg before disappearing into the darkness. "Stupid cat," he grumbled and was about to close the door again when he saw the cat return with a kitten in its mouth. He and Élise watched as the cat brought the mewing kitten to the fire then went back for the rest of its litter. The mother cat brought three more kittens in. Arno close the door once she and the last kitten had settled by the fire. The pleased mother laid down, allowing her kittens to nurse. She chirped a thank you to Arno. "What were you saying?" he asked turning to look at Élise.

She blushed, shaking her head. "Never mind." She smiled. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" he asked, as he undid his belt and dropped his pants. He chuckled when she blushed. "Oh, don't be shy," he teased her when she glanced away. "Not like you haven't seen it before." He laughed, catching the pillow she tossed at him.

"Put some pants on," she said, laughing too as she stood and pulled back the blankets and crawled into bed. He shook his head, tossing the pillow into the empty space. He changed into a night-shirt, splashed water on his face and added another log to the fire. Rain began to fall and he checked the glass doors before getting into bed. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them.

"It's only Septmeber and it's already starting to get cold," he said, snuggling into bed. He grinned when Élise jerked when his feet touched her shins.

"I'm not looking forward to dealing with your cold feet!" she pushed against his shoulder; he chuckled. "Feels like another cold winter is approaching. I hope it doesn't cause another famine."

"I heard the harvest wasn't very good," he said, "probably will." He rolled onto his back, laying his hands on his chest, staring up at the wooden canopy. He should convince Élise to tell him what she wanted to talk about earlier, something she should have told him before Germain. He couldn't fathom what it was. She only kept things from him out of a misguided sense of protecting him. He frowned. He didn't need her to protect him anymore. He looked at her when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. "Mm?"

"It's cold," she whispered, pulling the blankets closer to her chin. She had a hopeful wanting look in her eyes. Sighing, he sat up.

"I'll put another log on the fire then." He got out of bed, padding over to the fire place and tossed another log on. He poked the logs, and pulled the metal grate into the place to keep the cat and her kittens safe. He went back to bed, blowing on his hands as he did so. Once he settled himself again, Élise wormed her way up against his side. He looked at her, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her, his hand on her hip.

"I didn't want another log on the fire," she grumbled.

"Oh." He covered her other hand with his, squeezing her fingers to restore the warmth to them. "I thought you were still… mad at me," he mumbled.

"I don't want to talk about it, Arno," she said, "I'm tired. I want to sleep."

Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Of course," he said, "good night."

"Good night, Arno."

* * *

The days that followed the miscarriage were turbulent. Élise spent her mornings pouring over the latest reports Weatherall's slipshod scrambled together spy network brought him. Grim reports of Lady Eve gaining popularity among the rural Templars. This only reinforced the fact that she needed to seal her position as Grand Master and seize control of the Order soon. Her afternoons she spent discussing what she needed to accomplish before the ascension ceremony or if she could just skip it and move on. Weatherall informed her with what had happened in wake of her father's death. With Germain's demise, the Order needed stability, it was safer for her to go with all the pomp and circumstance of a ceremony.

Her nights had become tense, uneasy, as if she walked on a floor strewn with glass shards, each step cutting her feet. She spoke to Arno in short clip sentences, evading his questions until he gradually fell into silence, retreating into his own mind. She would do the same, debating with herself if she trying to talk to him or not. They would go to bed, and she felt her relationship becoming strained.

Her bleeding stopped sometime during the second week since the miscarriage, much to her relief. She released some pent-up energy with a good bout in the training room with Grisier and Weatherall (the latter barking commands at her in a mix of English and French). She would have asked Arno, but he had become scarce during the day.

After sparring, she and Weatherall would leave to discuss Templar matters. These meetings weighed on Élise as she longed to unburden herself to her mentor but held back. The few times she had a moment alone with Arno longer than a few minutes, they danced around the topics weighing most heavily on their minds. He had been put on a case, following a mysterious person known only as le Chevalier.

Élise's continued solace and relief became her fencing. Whenever she had a spare moment, she found herself fencing. The repetition, the burn of her muscles, the sound of the blade against the wooden dummies or against her opponent's blade… all brought peace of mind to her. Allowed her not to think.

She needed to think, especially now since it was middle of September. It was raining and Trenet was requesting a list of Templars she can give so her Assassins had something to do. Élise hadn't seen Arno since breakfast, he had left for the day, following a lead; a chasm sprung up between them since the miscarriage. It gnawed on her, like a dog with a bone. She bit her lip watching the rain run down the window, trying to ignore the chasm that had been growing between them. "All that's left is your signature and seal, Élise," Weatherall said. "These are the rogues that my agents have dug up."

Élise turned from the window and went to the table. She looked over the two sheets of paper. "Lady Eve isn't on here," she noted, arching a brow as she eyed her mentor. "Why?"

"My agents still haven't been able to find this Lady Eve. Some of them frankly don't think she exists." Weatherall tugged his grey beard. "Others thing she isn't even a Templar. Have you spoken to the Assassins about her?"

"No. Haven't gotten the time."

"You should."

Élise looked at her lieutenant. She knew she should speak to the Assassins, utilize the alliance she is working hard to forge. But she could couldn't waltz into the Sanctuary and demand an audience with Trenet. Arno's lack of being present was starting to grate on her. "Lady Eve  _is_  real," Élise insisted. "She sent me a note via Ruddock—"

"Who you, yourself admit is not completely trustworthy," Weatherall pointed out, despite the scowl she gifted him, "and to further prove my point,wasn't he given the note by one of Lady Eve's own messengers."

"Kenneth Cormac spoke of her," Élise said. "Said his father owed Lady Eve a favor."

"Kenneth Cormac?" Weatherall asked.

" _Oui_ , the son of Shay Cormac," Élise said. "Charles Dorian's killer."

"And you didn't tell Arno that the son of the man that killed his father was in—"

"Versailles, and no," Élise said, "what good would've it done? Kenneth was leaving for Halifax soon." Weatherall arched a brow, and Élise's eyes widened upon the implication. "Shay could be in Halifax."

"Not could, Élise,  _is_ ," Weatherall pointed out. "You should tell Arno."

"There's no proof. For all I know, Kenneth lives there with his sister and his father could be somewhere else," Élise pointed out. "I'm not going to let Arno go rushing across the Atlantic only to find nothing. Let the Assassins do their job. Trenet wants to see the bastard dead as much as Arno."

"You should've told him, regardless that you met Cormac's son."

"Why?" Élise snapped. "Why do I have to tell Arno everything? It wasn't important. I didn't even know the importance of Cormac, I just remembered  _hearing_  it as a girl once. For all I know I could've mistaken it and heard it when I went to London!" She shook the papers at him. The mother cat raised her head from the basket that one of the maids had placed by the fire.

"Élise."

Élise huffed, setting the papers down. She grabbed a pen, scrawled her name and then lit a candle. She dribbled a pool of wax before grabbing the silver seal and pressing it in. The square and compass encasing the G glared back at her. The seal of the Templar Grand Master. "Do I have to use this seal?" Élise asked, looking at the object in her hand. One of Weatherall's agents found it in Germain's old house.

"That symbol has been used for generations by Templar Grand Masters. Since Julius Caesar, himself," Weatherall pointed out. "You should feel proud you're using it."

"Caesar was a fool whose ambitions turned on him, killing him." Élise looked over at the cat, who gave a soft mew. "I'm the first female Grand Master in France. I feel like there should be a change"—she turned her attention to Weatherall; set the seal down— "we'll discuss this later"—she gathered the papers and set them aside— "I'll bring the list down to Trenet tomorrow in the morning." Élise said and sat down as Weatherall poured them both some tea. "Now, I need to find more Templars for after the ascension ceremony. Any luck?"

"A few. Joachim Murat seems a promising candidate."

"I think Arno mentioned him once," Élise said, taking a sip, "had to sabotage some canons a group of royalists were hoarding."

"Well, I'm not sure how Arno will feel about Murat being a Templar. There is Charles-André Merda, claims to have shot Robespierre in the jaw the night they captured him," Weatherall said. Élise grimaced, remembering that night, how she shot Robespierre in the jaw when he refused to give them Germain's location. It scared her more than Arno, how willing she was to inflict violence upon someone. She poured herself another cup of tea.

"I'm not  _that_  person," Élise mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, who else?" Élise asked.

"François René Mallarmé," Germain said, "a lawyer. Always good to have a lawyer in your pocket"—Weatherall winked at her— "Jean-Lambert Tallien, a strange man— soldier, named Hippolyte Charles; as he's with the army, he won't be able to meet you in person, but he swears allegiance to the de la Serres and the Grand Master. And finally: Lady Raphaëlle Edmée Françoise von Strübenhäagen. French born noblewoman from Prussia. An old Templar that left France sometime during your girlhood. Her husband's dead now and she decided to return to Paris." Weatherall rolled her eyes and added, "why she decided now is beyond me."

"Oh, don't be so harsh, Freddie," Élise quipped, "the city is so beautiful." They both chuckled. "I'm sure the first five will make fine additions to my order and once I've been officially appointed Grand Master, more will follow. Especially, when those names on the list start dying off."

"Be careful Élise," Weatherall warned, "don't use the Assassins like your own personal blade just because there is a truce and your close relations with Arno."

"I won't," Élise said. "I promise." She smiled when the cat came over to her and jumped on her lap. "Hello, madame," she said, stroking the cat's silky coat. "Need a break from your kittens?" The cat mewed softly in reply.

"Good." Weatherall's face softened, "It's good to see you smile again. It's like sunshine."

"It's good to smile again," Élise agreed. She took a sip of tea, savoring the taste, laughing when the cat nudged her hand. She petted the cat; her mind drifted to when she and Arno shared a bath together, and they talked about names, and names they thought about their future children. She sighed. "Julie… or Julien." She wondered if the child she lost would have been a boy or a girl. If it would have looked like her or like Arno or a mix of both of them.

"Pardon?" Weatherall asked, looking up from more paperwork. "What are you mumbling about?"

The kittens began to mew, wanting their mother. The cat perked up, jumping off Élise's lap in such a hurry that she nearly lost her tea cup. She watched as the cat entered the basket, licking the tiny heads of her kittens before settling down to nurse. She could easily imagine herself, rushing to her hungry baby and nursing the child. A powerful pang of grief and jealousy clenched her chest. "Nothing." Élise set her tea cup down. "Just thinking… I told Arno I wanted to name a child after my mother. Julie for a girl or Julien for a boy."

"That…" Weatherall stopped and took a deep breath, "your mother would've loved that."

"Yes, well"—Élise looked away— "maybe another time. I'm not ready for a child. The miscarriage was a blessing."

"Élise," Weatherall said, "you lost your child. Yes, you weren't that far along, but it was still  _your_  child. A child you and Arno created, together. You know how my relationship with your mother ended?"

"Vaguely, Mama never really talked about it."

"Well, we were on a mission, several actually. We had a passionate affair… your mother ended up… well, with child," Weatherall said, a melancholic wistfulness coming over his face. "Your mother miscarried before the end of her third month. I was… crushed, your mother was devastated. A distance sprung up between us and your father came into the picture around that time." Weatherall shrugged. "They married and you were born shortly after."

"What's the point, Freddie?" Élise asked.

"Well the miscarriage nearly broke your mother. It certainly signaled the end to our romantic relationship, but your mother grieved for that lost child. You should too… probably even  _need_  to. Wasn't that child an expression of your and Arno's love for each other?"

Élise swallowed, shifting in her chair. She saw the hurt in Arno's eyes; that melancholic resignation of another tragedy cruelly heaped upon him. "We can have other children, Freddie," Élise said, curtly, though she didn't look her mentor in the eyes, favoring her tea cup instead. She tried to block out the chirping mews of the cats by the fire.

"Yes, but Arno was hoping for  _this_  child!" Weatherall said, thumping his hand on the table.

"Arno didn't even know about the child until it was too late!"

"And who's fault is that, hmm?" Weatherall asked, leaning towards her. Élise scowled, trying to escape his gaze— no, her own guilt. She knew it was her fault Arno didn't know sooner. She had her suspicions and should have told him then, even it was just a suspicion, he had the right to know. He was the child's father after all. She stared at her knees, eyes tracing the stitching in her skirt; she placed a hand over her empty womb. "You kept it from him! You knew the entire time you were pregnant and refused to tell the man you profess to love! The child's own father! Not only did you keep this a secret from him but he also lost the child he desired, all in one fell swoop," Weatherall spat. "Yet you are trying to brush it off as nothing!"

"So, I'm the villain in this tale?" Élise snapped, jerking her head up. Tears welled in her eyes, her color was high with mortification, with shame, but most of all— a profound sense of grief she refused to accept.

"No," Weatherall said calmly, "you are not the hero nor the villain, Élise, neither is Arno. This matter isn't so black and white as you'd like it to be." He reached out and took her hand.

"He shouldn't've accused me of killing my child," Élise spat. Tears welled in her eyes, she wiped at them furiously, refusing to cry.

"He was drunk—"

"That doesn't excuse him!" Jerking her hand free from Weatherall. She stood up, almost throwing her tea cup onto the table. "I was worried about him and he just… I wanted to tell him I was sorry I shoved him away like that." She hung her head, hands twisting about, remembering Arno's look as she told him she didn't need his help. It was a look of hurt, rejection. "He just wanted to make sure I was alright." She paced around the room, skirts swishing with each step. It was becoming difficult to breath as she tried to hold back her tears. Stopping, she turned her gaze to the ceiling, her lip trembling. "And I pushed him away…"  _When I needed him the most._

"Losing a child," Weatherall began, "even one unplanned at this particular child was, is never easy. Arno is dealing with this in his own way. You and Arno need to come together, to talk, be united. Too long have you and Arno fought your demons alone. Both of you are going through difficult times. When's the wedding?"

Élise sniffed, wiping at her eyes and face her mentor. "December, the first week of December, maybe the second, not sure. Arno and I haven't exactly set a day. We've both been busy."

"December's quickly approaching. You two need to learn to… being married means everything is…" Weatherall paused. "How do I put this," he muttered, "your battles become his battles, his battles become your battles. There is no more yours or his, but instead it needs to become  _ours_."

"Unity."

"Yes," Weatherall said, "exactly. Unity. You two need to be united. In all things. Not just… romance. You and Arno were once two halves, now it's time for those halves to become whole."

Élise bowed her head and a gave a small snort." Damn."

"What?"

"You're right," she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips, "you always are. Alright," she said, trying to ignore Weatherall's pleased grin, "I'll talk to Arno. I'll work on bridging the gap that's sprung up between us."

"Good," Weatherall said. "You two need each other now more than ever. Each in your own ways" —he pointed a finger at her— "and you also need to come to terms with your grief."

"I'm not—" she snapped her mouth shut when Weatherall gave her a look. "I'll deal with it," she said tightly. Weatherall nodded. Élise was pleased with what she had accomplished for the day and was about to call an end to their little meeting when a knock sounded on the door. Before she could grant permission however, the door opened to reveal a man in a disheveled looking suit and Helene behind him. "Helene?"

"I tried to stop him, mademoiselle," Helene protested, a worried look on her face, "but he insisted and—"

"Joseph Fouché, at your service Mademoiselle Grand Mas—" Élise cut the man off by marching over and grabbing his bicep. "Mademoiselle Grand Mas—" he yelped when she trodden on his foot as she led him out of Arno's room. "Can you please explain what is going on?" Fouché asked as Élise marched him outside into the bustling street; it had stopped raining. She refused to answer his questions until they had crossed the bridge, directly across from the Café Théâtre. She made a sharp turn and dragged Fouché into an alley. "Care to explain to me now, Mademoiselle Grand Master why you had to drag me out of the room like that?" he asked tugging at his waistcoat.

"You clearly are a Templar," Élise stated, "so I'm sure you realized where we were a few moments ago."

"An Assassin's den, I'm well aware," Fouché said, "I don't see why you had to manhandle me in such a fashion." Élise rolled her eyes.

"The truce between the Assassins and the Templars is tenuous at best. I'm granted clemency there, because of my relationship with Arno Dorian," Élise said, "Mr. Weatherall and Helene are also under my and Arno's protection.  _You_ , however, are not. So, the fact you came to call on me in my home in the midst of the Assassins is incredibly stupid of you."

Élise watched as Fouché's color rose, causing the whiskers on his cheeks to stand out in sharp contrast. "Grand Master, I—"

"I don't remember you ever being a part of my father's circle  _nor_  Germain's," Élise cocked her head, "just who are you anyway?"

"My name is Joseph Fouché, I'm the Deputy of the National Convention," he said, puffing up a bit with pride. Élise gave a solemn nod.

"That still doesn't explain how you escaped Arno's blade if you sided with Germain."

"I didn't," Fouché said tightly. "I left the Order shortly before your honorable father's death when he proposed a truce between our Order and the Assassins. I felt that I cannot divide my loyalties between furthering our goals and bettering the lives of the people of France."

"If you didn't side with Germain, why have you decided to return to the Order now?"

"Germain was a rabid dog that needed to be put down," Fouché said. "I never supported his ideals or his methodology." Fouché looked at her, his expression softening. "You prove a new beacon of hope in these troubled times. The Assassins are stronger than ever now in both Europe and the New World, our only remaining strong hold is in Britain. I offer you my intimate knowledge of our government in hope that you use it to your best advantage"—he bowed—"Grand Master, I am your willing pawn."

"Unlike my father and Germain, who fawned over those that spoke prettily," Élise said, straightening and folding her arms, "I judge a person's worth on their actions and the merit of those actions. Prove to me that you are loyal and true and I'll grant you favor." Élise smiled, adding, "betray me…" she shrugged, palms open and upwards, "my soon-to-be husband is an Assassin after all." She turned and headed out of the alley, only to pause and look back over at the man. "Oh, and I do hope to see you at my ascension ceremony. I'll make sure you get an invitation. There'll be a soirée afterwards too."

After she left Fouché standing in the alley, Élise didn't feel like returning to the café to deal with more problems that lacked solutions. She hiked up her skirts and entered the street, allowing her mind to wander while her body was swept along the tide of humanity's sea. People babbled, they jeered and cried out. Revolutionists with their tricolored flags and ruffled cockades, peasants and beggars looking for bread, displaced nobility and disgraced statesmen wanting to be heard. All came together in a strange cacophony that was on the cusp of music.

A boy jostled her hip in his mad dash down the street. Élise checked to make sure she had her purse only to realize that she hadn't taken anything for an outing when she grabbed Fouché by the arm. "Damn." Élise looked around realizing she had wandered over to the Right Bank's Marais district. Bit bored, Élise entered a few shops at random. She entered a jewelry shop last. "Ah, citizeness!" the plump jeweler cried, "Welcome! Welcome!"

Élise offered him a smile, her eyes falling on the young assistant. She gave him a smile too, the lad flushed scarlet. Élise ignored the jeweler and began to browse the items in the shop. Silver, gold, platinum and electrum gleamed back at her, while gemstones and jewels of various shapes and colors glittered before her. It surprised her that the shop had survived this long. She noted the tricolored flag hanging proudly in the shop.  _Interesting shield._  She thought, placing her hands on the counter and leaning over to look at some rings.

They were engagement rings with wedding bands. She and Arno would need rings for their wedding. "Can I see these?" she pointed to the box containing the merge selection of wedding and engagement rings designed for men. The assistant flushed as he nodded, pulling the velvet lined box out. She looked at them, noting that they didn't have a companion wedding band. "Where's the wedding band?" she asked.

"We-Well, n-normally the man doesn't… he uhm… he doesn't wear his before the wedding," the assistant stammered. Élise arched a brow. "Some do. To show their commitment to their bride, but most… don't."

"So, the groom removes it before the wedding?"

"Typically."

"Huh." Élise looked at the rings, wondering which one Arno would like. There were unmarked signet rings, large and bulky. Élise knew those wouldn't do, not for an Assassin. Some of the bands had too many glittering gemstones and Arno had never been the flashy type. His tastes were always simple. She sighed, looking for just the right one. Then she saw it.

A golden band, inlayed with three small stones: two diamonds on either side of a small sapphire. "May I?" she asked. The assistant nodded, plucking the ring form the box. He placed it in Élise's hand. She turned it over smiling as the stones caught the light and shimmered. This was the ring; she could already see its simple elegance upon Arno's finger. "How much?" she asked.

"Ah, an excellent choice, citizeness," the jeweler said, swooping in vulture-like and ignoring his assistant's frown. "That'll be eight hundred livre."

"Actually, citizen," Élise said coolly, glancing at the assistant.

"Joachim," the assistant said. "Joachim, citizeness."

"Joachim was doing a wonderful job helping me. I think I'll continue to have his assistance," Élise said. The jeweler flushed, but not wanting to lose a costumer he backed down, leaving her with Joachim. She looked at him. "Is it really eight hundred?"

"I'm afraid so, citizeness."

Élise swore. She didn't have that kind of money on hand. She and Arno hadn't discussed what to do with the money de Sade gave them for retrieving the manuscript. She knew if she left now, she'd never see the ring again. She looked at her feet and allowed the saddest memories to trickle in. She heaved a great sigh and nestled the ring back amongst its gleaming fellows. "My fiancé is going to be t-terribly disappointed," Élise said, allowing her voice to catch just slightly. She gave Joachim a wistful smile, pulling her handkerchief from her bodice; she buried her nose in the white cotton. "We're getting married soon," she told Joachim and gave another huge sigh, adding a slight sob, hands covering her face. "We wanted to give each other rings… but if I can't afford one—"

"Oh, citizeness! We can work something out!" Joachim said. Élise sniffed, dabbing at her eyes demurely.

"No, no. I wouldn't want you and your master to lose money."

"He can take it out of my wages," Joachim assured her.

"Y-You… you'd do that for me?" Élise asked, brightening a little as she placed a hand on Joachim's. He flushed and nodded. "Oh, I can't make you suffer like that. It wouldn't be proper."

"Citizeness I insist, clearly your fiancé means everything to you, I'd hate for him to be disappointed on your wedding day."

Élise chewed her lip, she took a quick glance around the jewelry shop, watching the people outside for a brief moment before coyly returning her attention to Joachim. "I don't know…"

"I insist," he said.

"Well, if you insist," Élise said, smiling a little bit, "I can hardly say no."

"I-Is there anything special you want on the band?" Joachim asked her.

"If you can put  _j'taime Élise_ , on the inside of the band?" she asked.

"Of course," Joachim smirked, "he's lucky," he said.

"Who?"

"The man you're marrying," Joachim said, pulling out some paper and a pencil. He scribbled down the inscription. "I mean; you're going through all this trouble for a ring for him." He gave a bemused little snort. "Maybe you can get it for a worthier man," he said with a cheeky grin and a saucy wink.

Élise chuckled, though her eyes were frigid. "Aw, I appreciate it, but"—she leaned forward, smiling beatifically at him— "you can rest assured the man I'm going to marry is plenty worthy."

"Well," Joachim drawled, "are you sure I can't persuade you otherwise?"

"Quite sure," Élise said, giving him a wink.

"Joachim!" the jeweler shouted, startling the young man, "quit stalling and sell her the damn ring or ask her to leave!"

"Ah, but citizen Soucy," Joachim muttered, going over to the jeweler to discuss with him the arrangement. Élise watched, tucking her handkerchief back into her bodice. The jeweler was at first livid, glancing at Élise then back to Joachim. Then he settled down upon realizing he'd benefit from this. Joachim returned, his cheeks a bit pink. "I'll have the ring done in about three or four days," he said, "come back for it then."

"Thank you, Citizen Joachim," Élise said. "I hope you meet a woman worthy of your good heart soon."

Joachim bowed his head. "Alas, citizeness"—he said looking up at her— "I already have." He gestured towards her.

Élise gave him a brittle smile, the words making her think of Arno and the distance that had grown between them. " _Merci_ ," she said and left the shop, promising to return in a few days for the ring.

* * *

Élise returned to the café by evening, the dinner crowd was already well underway by the time she slipped into the seat opposite Weatherall. He munched on a chicken thigh while watching the performance. He arched a brow at Élise, before setting his chicken onto the plate and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I see the prodigal Grand Master has returned," he mocked, she rolled her eyes, "just what were you thinking, dragging Fouché out of the café like that?"

"I couldn't very well have him discuss Templar business in Arno's room," Élise hissed in a low voice, before flagging down Noémie and requesting some food. The head maid gave a nod and went off to fetch Élise her dinner.

"So, where did you go gallivanting off to with our Mr. Fouché?" Weatherall asked, going back to his chicken.

"Not far, an alley, he seems like a respectable ally, but," Élise paused as Andrée came and set her plate before her. Élise exchanged a smile and watched the woman retreat to the kitchen. "He's a spider," Élise finished, she picked up her chicken thigh and bit into it. She stopped speaking for a while, enjoying her dinner. Élise finished, sitting back and took a sip of wine. It was Bordeaux and it made her think of Arno. "I also got Arno a wedding ring."

"And how did you manage that, pray tell," Weatherall said, "considering you left without so much as taking your dagger."

Élise grimaced, taking another sip of wine. "I flirted with the shop's assistant and he told me I could have it and that the jeweler will just take it out of his wages."

"You do realize you doomed the poor lad," Weatherall pointed out.

"He insisted," Élise huffed, "besides the ring was eight hundred livres! Where would I get that kind of money?"

"I'm sure Arno would've given you the money if you only asked," Weatherall said. Élise scowled. "He's not a miser."

"Of course he isn't but this is supposed to be a surprise for him and I can't very well keep it a surprise if I ask to borrow money without telling him why I needed the money in the first place!" Élise said.

"Oh, come now," Weatherall said, "I'm sure you could've thought of  _something_  to tell him." Élise huffed, setting her wine back down. "You still haven't talked to him, have you?"

"No, she hasn't," Arno said, appearing besides their table. She and Weatherall both jumped. She put a hand over her chest.

"You startled us," she chided, " _dear_." Her lips twitched into a smile at the mischievous grin on his face.

"What can I say"—he pulled a chair over at sat down— "I'm light of step." He took her wine glass, pouring himself a glass. She smiled, putting a hand on his knee.

"You aren't going out tonight? You've been going out lately," she said, watching as Arno's Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow. She knew if she kissed him there, he'd groan. The crowd laughed, her attention torn from his throat to the stage. She missed the what happened, pouting as the laughter was now confusing.

"No," he said, setting the wine glass down. He burped. "Pardon," he mumbled. One of the maids came over and put a plate before Arno. Élise watched him eat, returning to her own dinner. Weatherall grunted as he stood.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said, and thumped of to another table. Arno shifted to the empty spot. Silence fell between, the crowd crowing in delight at the skit's conclusion, Arno's knife and fork clink-clinking against his plate, she drummed her fingers against her other hand. Élise wondered if the Father of Understanding was cackling at her; she wanted to talk to her mentor, but she knew if she brushed Arno off he'd be hurt. Even though his spirits seemed to be high. She reached across with her napkin, wiping some sauce from his chin. Her cheeks tinted, as did his.

"Uh… thank you." He glanced down at his food. "Élise, I—"

"I want to speak to Trenet," she said. "About Lady Eve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And another chapter is over. Yay! Thanks for stinking with me guys.
> 
> Suspense builds up, who is Lady Eve? How fairs Arno's investigation into Le Chevalier? When will they get married? What is it that Élise wanted to tell Arno? All questions will be answered, gentle friends, in due time.
> 
> Citizen/Citizeness - these replaced monsieur/madame/mademoiselle as the former were too closely tied to the ancien regime. As the jewelry shop is very patriotic they refer to costumers that way.
> 
> For progress up dates and me yammering about life and my work, check out my Instagram story, I'm soliloquy_nemo there.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
> 
> Nemo et Nihil


	22. Grief's Storm

Silence enveloped them. Silence — in so far as — neither of them spoke, only stared at each other. The café was loud, people jeering and shouting over each other, the people on stage bellowing above the crowd. Spoons tinkling against cups, glasses clinking against each other, cutlery scraping against plates. A dog barked outside, a cat answered with a yowl. Someone shouted:  _Vive le Révolution!_  And the crowd echoed the sentiment, someone began to sing one of the patriotic songs. Élise and Arno joined in, singing along to avoid suspicion; their eyes told a different story.

When the singing died down, and the crowd's chatter returned to a pleasant buzz, Arno said: "You want to talk to Trenet?" he set his knife and fork on the side of his plate. One of the waiters came, scooping it up.

"Dessert sir?" he asked.

"Élise?" Arno looked at her. She shook her head. "A slice of opera cake?" he asked.

"Oui, monsieur," the waiter said, and took Élise's plate as well before going back to the kitchen. She took a sip of her wine as Arno pour himself another glass. She arched a brow.

"How many glasses have you had?" she asked.

"One, this is my second." He took a sip. "Why?"

"I don't want you to become a drunkard," she said, "like how I found you in Versailles. You made quite a name for yourself. Several people were like 'oh him? He's the town drunk.' And would point me to the nearest tavern for more information." She looked at him. "You made a lovely rat's nest in my father's house."

"It was abandoned," he said, taking another sip. "It was the only home I ever knew. Where else was I supposed to go?"

Élise sighed, folding the napkin then unfolding it and folding it again. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up at him. "I… I didn't mean it like that."

He shrugged as he drank and put his half empty glass down. "It doesn't matter, it's over now."

"But still, I—"

"It's fine, Élise, it's over now." He smiled at the waiter when he came back with his slice of cake. "Are you sure you don't want any. It's on the house."

"I'm sure." She took another sip of her wine, watching him eat. A man was on stage, a newspaper in his hand. The riots hadn't lessened since the death of Robespierre, in fact they only seemed to have gotten worse. With the National Assembly leaderless and the Jacobins out of favor with the general populace, the entire country (not to mention Paris) was in utter chaos. It baffled her how far away from the noble ideas of equality, liberty and fraternity the revolution ended up becoming. She wondered if this was what Germain wanted or if he had plans to reel in the people's savagery. She doubted it. If she was honest with herself, she thought the Revolution got out of even Germain's control.

France needed a new government, a new leader. Someone that people could rally behind and would in turn support them. Someone elected and wouldn't style themselves as a king. Who could that be was anyone's guess.

"You're awfully quiet," he said, drawing her out of her thoughts. "I didn't mean to snap. I just… don't want to revisit the past."

"No, it's understandable. I'm sorry," she said. She put her hand over his, smiling when he grabbed her fingers. His hands were rough but gentle. "Arno—"

"About speaking with Trenet, why do you want to talk to her?" he asked.

"I believe Lady Eve is the head of a new organization of rogue Templars or rather a Templar powerful enough to challenge me. It's hard finding anyone loyal to the de la Serre name. Germain either intimidated them all into joining his cause or quelled them into silence or killed them."

"Like Lafrenière," Arno said. She nodded.

"Exactly." She huffed. "Germain was a clever bastard."

"If I had known—"

"I know," she said. "That's why I want to talk to Trenet, combined our forces and—"

"They've already put me on the case."

"Really?" she asked, sitting back against her chair. "They're trusting you with something  _that_ important, after banishing you and—"

"They don't see it as highly important." Arno said. He ate another bite of cake. "The Chevalier has an un underground duelist club. They believe the Chevalier is an agent of Lady Eve, they want me to become accepted into the Chevalier's inner circle and find out what I can about Lady Eve that way."

"I see," Élise said. She took another sip of wine, before pulling her hand away from Arno's. "Lady Eve strikes me as a person to have her fingers in many pies." She looked at him. "What do you think?"

"Pardon?"

"How Lady Eve and the Chevalier are connected." Élise said.

"There could be a link. The duelist club promotes gambling. A cut always goes to the house."

"Good source of income in unsteady times. People always seem to find money for gambling on blood sports."

"Also, recruitment. The strongest fighters are drafted into the rank and file grunts. The knights of old owed military allegiance to the king in exchange for land." Arno ate some more. "There could be more involved. When I killed Sivert and les Roi de Thunes, I saw the next piece in the puzzle."

"You said Rose was ordered by someone to deliver the Apple to a Lady Eve? She already has a network. There are more involved." She drummed her fingers against the table. "Chess pieces."

"I'm not following." Arno frowned.

"Look," she said, moving some things around on the table.

"That's my cake," he protested when she took his plate and set it in the middle. He reached over her set up and took another bite.

"Arno," she chided. "We have Lady Eve in the middle, the Chevalier here. We both know that there more involved. Germain had a man in the military, one controlling the grain supply in and out of the city, two in the National Assembly—"

"One among the beggars, and another close to your father." Arno said. "Lafrenière was the only one not among Germain's inner circle."

"Right. What if the Chevalier is apart of Lady Eve's inner circle. I'm sure Germain used code names to undermine my father."

"Élise, I don't think François was—"

"I know," she said, solemn. "What if they are named after chess pieces."

"Chess pieces… would make sense," he said slowly, "especially for why someone would stylize themselves as le chevalier when the nobility are out of favor."

"Exactly. What's the strongest piece on the board?"

"The Queen, why?" he asked, watching as she got up. "Élise, where are you going?" he shifted about to track her movements. "Élise!" he got up and followed her.

She headed up the stairs to their room, pulling out paper and ink. She wrote out the six pieces on a chess board. "Do you know the name of the Chevalier?" she asked, looking up from the paper.

"No. Élise, what is this about?"

"Six types of pieces on a chess board, five agents for Lady Eve. Le Chevalier is one, who are the other four?"

"I have no idea, that's what we're figuring out right?" he asked.

"Le Roi, la Tour, l'évêque, and le Pion," she said as she wrote. "Lady Eve is la Reine and you've met the Chevalier, right?"

"Yes, she was at the duelist club, she allowed me to participate."

"Convince your council to let you investigate further, follow different leads." Élise said, "I'll do what I can on my end."

"They still don't exactly trust me. Quemar doesn't like me. Never forgave me for suggesting he killed Mirabeau."

"Mirabeau was a pig."

"Makes me wonder how he became Mentor." Arno took the piece of paper. "The Council will… I'll convince them to let me follow other leads."

"Our best bet is finding a ledger book," Élise said. "My father kept one with all his most trusted agents."

"I could break into the Chevalier's office, see if she keeps one. I may not reveal everyone on our list, but it could provide a clue."

"Yes." She looked at Arno. "Find the ledge book and we'll find more about Lady Eve and the Chevalier," she said and handed him the paper.

"I told you, Élise, I can't do this independently. The council will want updates, be kept informed," he said, looking at the list of titles in his hand. "If I work independently they'll get upset."

"Then go tell them, keep them informed!" she snapped, running a hand through her hair. She walked over to the bed, looking over to the fire place and the cat family that had adopted them. She hugged herself. Germain was dead, someone was trying to usurp her destiny again. She was keeping secrets from Arno, something she promised herself she wouldn't do. She missed her father and her mother; Weatherall wasn't the best substitute when she just wanted someone to relate to. Her mother would have advised her, guidance. She flinched when she felt a touch on her shoulder.

"Élise?" he asked. She turned towards him, rubbing her face his chest as she slipped her arms around his waist. She always did love the smell of Arno's cologne, a musky scent with sandalwood. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't let the cinq in her armour appear. He had to see her strong and unwavering, she was the Grand Master. At no point was she allowed to drop her façade of strength. Especially not for Arno. "Élise please don't hold it in, I'm here, talk to me," he said, rubbing her back.

She took a shuddering breath, tamping down the pain and anger and all the hate that built up during the last five years. Locking it away and dawning the mask of the Grand Master and the Élise he loved. "I'm fine Arno," she said, looking up at him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just fine."

He frowned. "You're not fine," he said. "Look," he began, "about the baby… I… I'm hurt you didn't tell me, but… Élise, we'll get through this." He took her hands, kissing the tips of her fingers. "Together. I promise. We'll have other opportunities to have children or we can adopt them." He gave her a wry smile. "God only knows how many orphans the Revolution has made."

The baby. The baby she wasn't ready to have and wasn't sure she wanted. She pulled away from him. "I don't want to talk about this, Arno. I'm fine," she said, adding another log to the fire and scratching the mother cat behind her ears.

"Élise, if anything I'm angry you didn't tell me you were pregnant, not that you lost the baby," he said, "and I was drunk and—"

"Enough, Arno! It's over. I'm fine. I have other things to worry about."

"It's not over, Élise! That was  _our baby_! I felt like I failed somehow! That if I had done something different you wouldn't have lost it." He licked her lips, watching her. "I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I'm sorry if I caused you to lose our baby. I'll do anything to make it up—"

"Arno, drop it." She snapped, turning to face him. "I'm done talking about it."

"Done talking" — he frowned — "Élise you haven't said anything about it. You're bottling it up and it's causing me to worry, like I worried about you during our hunt for Germain. After you shot Robespierre—"

"I had everything under control. He didn't talk and we didn't have much time."

"You just shot an unarmed man!" He spread his arms wide, disbelief etched onto his face. "The woman I love would—"

"You don't know a lot about the woman you claim to love." She snapped, smirking when he flinched. It felt good to lash out, to give into her anger.  _But not at Arno. Arno is only trying to help. He loves me and is worried._ She thought, her shoulder didn't relax.

"You hardly tell me anything. Élise, I'm an Assassin now, you don't have to keep any secrets from me anymore, not like when we were children." He reached for her, fingers gracing her cheek. She took a step back, noting the hurt in his eyes. Too long have she kept the Templars a secret, too long had she carried this burden alone. It was frightening to give it up, and she felt strongly possessive about it, reluctant to let Arno help her shoulder it. "Élise, please we're getting marred soon, we—"

"I don't want this," she said, pressing her fingers against her temples. She felt smothered, too many voices shouting in her head, demanding her attention, she couldn't think. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"What? Élise, I—"

"I have to go," she said, gathering her sword and pistol. "I need to think." She grabbed her cloak before leaving, ignoring Arno's protests and pleas for her to come back. It was a relief that he didn't follow her.

* * *

The sky over Paris was black with thick grey clouds, swollen with autumn rain. A distant rumble of thunder reverberated across the sky, the charge of electricity was in the air and she could smell the approaching storm as she made her way to the right bank and as she walked up the boulevards the rain came down in cold grey sheets. The scents of blood and sewage grew stronger, she hiked up her skirts to keep the hems from getting ruined. The door to her father's house was locked. She screamed, banging her fist on the wood before finally kicking the door open with an unladylike snarl. The violence startled a ragtag group of grimy squatters, their frightened eyes staring back at her. "Get out," she shouted. They didn't move. She pulled her pistol out, pointing it at them. "Get out! Get out now!"

The squatters scrambled to their feet. One of them was pregnant, her husband helping her to her feet, and the woman glared at her. Élise bit her lip, hand shaking as she pulled back the dogshead on her pistol. The hateful accusing look in the pregnant woman's eyes, her hand on her swollen belly as if she was trying to shield her baby from Élise's fury. Jealousy seethed in the pit of her stomach and she leveled her pistol at the woman's back, keeping it there until she was out of range. Once the band was gone, Élise pushed the dogshead forward and closed the door. The rumble of thunder grew closer and she could hear the rain echo in the empty house.

She gave a scream, pressing herself against the door, sliding down and hugging her knees. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, holding back her sobs. In a fit of fury, she threw her pistol. It made a dull thunk against the ground. She headed to her father's study, memories of her childhood rushing to assault her: Chasing Arno in a game of tag, dance lessons with Arno, sword practice with Weatherall, shoe shopping with her mother, her reunion with Arno after he became an Assassin, listening to her father instruct her in the ways of the Templars.

She stumbled into her father's study. François frowned. "You're late Élise," he said, looking her up and down. "What in God's name have you been up to?"

"Arno and I… well, he wanted—" she stopped when her father waved his hand.

"I don't need both of you running amuck. Him doing so is quiet enough, you need to behave yourself young lady, rein him in if need be," François said, "he listens to you."

"Yes, Father," Élise said, a bright smile flashing across her face. "I will." She smoothed her bodice and skirts, and then closed the door, locking it so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Sit," he said. She sat, fanning out her skirts slightly, before smiling up at her father. "You did your hair up."

"You like it?" Élise asked, bouncing the curls framing her face. "Véronique says it's the latest style in Versailles."

"It's good to see you interested in more feminine things," François said, sitting down. "Your mother would have skeptically approved." He chuckled, glancing at the marble bust of Julie de la Serre he had in the corner.

"Arno likes it," she said, throwing her shoulders back, "he says I look like a proper noblewoman." She couldn't keep the blush from her cheeks.

"Élise—"

"I know, Father," she said, her tone serious. "It's just a harmless crush. We're just friends. Nothing will come of it."

"If you convince him—"

"I haven't found the right time to bring it up to him," she said, "I don't think he's ready to learn the truth about what we are… about who his father is, and why he was probably killed."

"Charles Dorian's death was tragic, but it had nothing to do with us," François said, "stress that to him when you discuss it."

"I will Father." Élise nodded, twisting her fingers in her lap. She had no intention of telling Arno about any of it. He was her one sanctuary in the entire world, the one thing that was truly  _hers_. He didn't belong to the secret war of Templars and Assassins, and she meant to keep it that way. When she married, she'll insist on keeping Arno as her servant. "How have you been?"

François gave a tired sigh. "I don't understand why Madame de la Mare insists on keeping you at her house, instead of coming here to instruct you."

"Father," Élise giggled. "It's okay if you miss me."

"Missing you is an understatement. Balancing the Order, speaking with Mirabeau—"

"I don't know why you keep council with  _that man_  Father," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Especially after how he acquired his wife."

"He's a good man, for an Assassin." François said, huffing.

"A good man doesn't bribe the maid of the woman he wishes to make his wife, and then sneaks into her bed chamber and pretends to have a sexual encounter with her," Élise said. "Assassin or not."

"I'm sure you don't want to hear this dull talk," François said. "There will be plenty of time for me to instruct you on the political intrigues the Grand Master has to deal with after your initiation ceremony," he said. "In four years."

"Yes, Father," she said, smiling, "I'm almost old enough to become a Templar."

"You look more and more like your mother with each passing day," François said, a sad smile gracing his chubby features. "She would have been proud of you, Élise, so very proud."

"I like to think she would be too," Élise said, "I miss her." She looked down at her hands, not wanting to embarrass herself or her father with her tears. She heard the scrape of a chair and then the warm arms of her father around her. She hugged him, sniffling into his velvet waistcoat.

"There, there, Élise," François whispered. "It's okay. It's okay." A knock on the door sounded.

Élise opened the door to her father's study. The rain pounded upon the roof, the cold wind seeped through the boarded-up windows, the cold coiling itself around her. She shivered pulling her cloak around her tighter. Her steps churned up dust, scattering the mice and rats, and she could smell the mold and rot. The rodents had chewed the leather of the chairs and the curtains. "So long ago," she whispered. It was one of the last times she spoke of her mother with her father. The final time was the day of his death, just before she had spotted Arno at her soirée.

She touched the desk, the bookshelves, the paper and quills still on the desk. It felt like years of her life were spent in the walls, listening to her father, learning the Templar philosophy and history, learning that the Assassins could never be trusted. She was groomed to be Grand Master in this room (and its twin in Versailles).

She came to the marble bust of her mother, glad the vermin had left it alone. The rain grew louder and the wind began to howl. A clap of thunder and the house felt as if shook. She looked up at the dark ceiling, wondering if the roof would leak. The bust was of white marble. Élise asked her mother about it once, and Julie said it her father had it commissioned while she was pregnant.

"You look very serious, Mama," Élise, only five at the time, had said.

"I had to sit very still so the sculptor could chip away at the marble properly." Julie gave her young daughter a mischievous smile. "Something very difficult to do when you were doing summersaults in my belly." She tickled Élise, and the young girl giggled.

Élise couldn't help but smile at the memory. "You still look serious Mother," Élise said, tracing the contours of her mother's face, adding her mother's rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes and cascading flaming curls. Another clap of thunder, the storm was getting closer. Grief welled up in her bosom; a hot hard knot that made it difficult to breathe. Tears burned in her eyes and her throat tightened. She missed her parents. She missed her mother's laugh and the mischievous wink she would give her when they shared a secret moment. Her father's guidance and wisdom, and those brief blissful moments when he set aside the mantel of Grand Master and became her father. Those moments she loved best and those memories hurt the most. In contrast, she hated when he became the Grand Master around her.

"Absolutely not!" François said, putting on the robe of the Grand Master. "I will not have Arno at your initiation soirée, Élise."

"But Father, it's not like he's going to be at the initiation ceremony! Only Templars will be and you've invited other guests that are  _not_  Templars. Why can't Arno come?"

"Have you spoken to him about the Order?" François asked. Élise chewed her lip. She hadn't, and was beginning to wonder if she had would Arno have been allowed to at least attend the soirée. "Élise."

"Father, I haven't found the right time! You and Madame de la Mare have been keeping me busy, I hardly get to see him and I'm not about to tell him everything in a letter," she said. It was partly the truth. Something like this wasn't meant for a letter. He deserved to learn the truth about his father and her face to face. "If you allowed me to visit home more often or him to come to Paris—"

"I've told you why he can't come to Paris. Just imagine the trouble you two will get into!" François said. "He gets into enough trouble with the Marshalcy at Versailles—"

"That's because he's bored!" Élise said. "If you only—"

"He's not a dog, Élise," François said. "Arno is not invited." He looked at her. "You need to end this… this… foolishness with him. You are going to be a Templar in a few days, I have been presented with several offers for your hand and—"

"I want to marry Arno," she said, she felt satisfied when her father's face colored.

"I forbid it! Absolutely not, Élise! He isn't of rank!"

"He was born into a noble family, of noble blood and—"

"Never inherited his father's title. He's no more noble than Olivier. This is out of the question. You will marry who I choose for you, and that's final." François softened slightly. "You can, of course, keep Arno on as a member of your household" — Élise brightened at this — "but only  _after_  you give your husband a child."

" _Father_ ," Élise growled.

"My decision on this matter is final, Élise," François said. "You are to be the Grand Master after me, you'll need a legitimate heir or heiress, not a bastard sired by an untitled boy you've had a childhood crush on!" Élise stood up, slamming her hands down on her father's desk, anger burning in her gaze. "Hate me all you want Élise," François continued, "but this is your destiny. You are the next Grand Master."

"The next Grand Master," she spat bitterly, the memory burning hot in her mind. The room filled with blinding light, lighting splitting the sky apart and thunder booming overhead. Anger broke the grief, the hot hard knot shattering, manifesting itself in a shriek that the wind swallowed with a louder howl. She spun around and tore the curtains down. Clawed the books from the shelves. Swept the papers from the desk. Ink wells shattered, leaving black splotches on the walls and floor. The rain came down harder, drumming against the roof. Thunder boomed, shaking the house.

A chair broke against the wall, its twin met the same fate. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" she screamed, tears cascading down her face. She pulled the draws from the desk, throwing them at the walls. She tore the papers, broke the quills. She pulled at her hair until it fell about her face, clinging to her brow. She kicked things. Tossed books against the wall. She spat obscenities. Her hands met the cold marble of her mother's bust. She panted, a brief pause in her hate filled rage. She roared, tossing the heavy object with all her might across the room.

A clap of thunder.

A crack of marble.

Her mother's nose spinning towards the door. Élise stood, shoulders heaving, amidst the destruction of her father's study. The thunder began to fade, the howling wind grew quieter and the rain began to lessen. Her knees shook and she fell to the floor, destruction about her and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Her wrathful hate ebbed away, leaving suffering in its wake. She was alone. All alone. She had pushed everyone away or had lost them because of things beyond her control. All she had left were the obsidian sharp memories; she wasn't careful and cut herself on their razor edges, her heart bleeding.

Footsteps sounded beneath the retreat of the thunder. They echoed in the empty halls. She looked up, a golden orb of light bobbing along towards her, banishing the shadows. He stood in the doorway, illuminated by the golden glow of the lantern; dressed in his Assassin gear, the blue greatcoat darker from the rain, brown hair plastered to his face, and raindrops running in rivulets down his face. "Élise." He sounded relieved.

Her heart filled with love and gladness at the sight of him. Tears returned anew to her eyes. "Arno," she whispered. She never felt happier to see him in that moment. He remained silent as he surveyed the destruction. He walked over to her and set the lantern down and pulled her into a hug. She broke again, sobbing into his shoulder, moved by the silent acceptance. He smelled of rain and sandalwood, wet cloth and oil smoke. His stalwart strength and loyalty enveloped her, comforting her as she cried. She clung to him, her rock in the tumult sea of change. "You came, you came," she whispered.

"I'll always find you" — he rubbed her back — "let's get you home."

Home. Yes, home. Home was where he was, and it was a feeling she hadn't felt in such a long time. It was euphoric bliss that he would awaken the feeling in her again. She sniffed, allowing him to help her to her feet. He picked up the lantern and she pressed herself closer to him. They left together, returning the ruined room to the shadows and the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And so ends chapter 22
> 
> I'm so sorry for the lengthy delay in updates. My cat TC died November 18, 2017. His death is something I'm struggling with. I've had him for eighteen years and it's hard figuring out how to navigate my world without him. Haytham helps but he's not TC.
> 
> The last two quarters of college (fall and this current winter one) have been kicking my ass. Especially this quarter as both my literature classes are very writing intensive. (I have two papers due on Friday).
> 
> I also was swinging back and forth between leaving the fandom and abandoning this work and focusing on my original fiction.
> 
> I have decided to see this through the end because I want Arno and Élise to have a happy ending.
> 
> I'm on track to graduate this spring, so that means I'll be getting a job and less writing time. I'm dedicated to see this story through to the end. I'm currently working on revisions to earlier chapters to change things and make things more consistent.
> 
> Thank you all for your continue support and reviews. They keep me going, even though they barely trickle in. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review
> 
> Nemo et Nihil


	23. The Noose Around the Choking Heart

The storm had turned into an endless downpour by the time they got back to the Café Théâtre, with the storm's main body was heading towards Versailles by the looks of it. Geoffroy held up a lantern, as Arno came back with Élise in his arms. "Good heavens, sir, is she alright?" the intendent asked.

"She'll be fine," Arno said, "put some coffee on and have Julian fetch some laudanum." Arno headed upstairs to their room. Élise had remained silent, soft sniffles coming from her every now and then. He set her down on the bed, taking her wet clothes off and helping her into her nightgown.

"Arno, I…" Élise began but he pressed a finger to her lips. The mother cat was watching them from her basket. Outside the rain had lessen to droning pitter-patter that faded into white noise.

"No, rest," he said, pulling back the blanket. "Get in bed Élise, it's warm, and your skin is freezing." He watched her shake, fidgeting with her hands, tear welling her eyes. He licked her lips, his brows creased with worry. "Please Élise," he said.

"Arno, please let me explain," Élise said, grabbing his biceps, her nails digging into him hard enough that he winced. "About the baby and my father, when the king died that wasn't the only life lost that day, I—"

"No, Élise, we'll talk in the morning," he said, cutting her off. He pried her hands from his arms and tucked her into bed, smoothing her brow and giving it a tender kiss. "You… you need to rest," he said.

"Monsieur!" Julian said, knocking on the door. Arno went over and took the cup of coffee. "I didn't put much in."

"That's fine, she doesn't need much just a little bit to help calm her nerves," Arno said, there was a distant clap of thunder and Arno watched the lightning flash over the city. The storm was moving on, slowly.

"Is there anything else I can get for her or you?" Julian asked. Arno shook his head, as he accepted the cup of coffee.

"No," he said, "that'll be all for now Julian. Go home." A gust of wind rattled the windows.

"In this weather monsieur, I'll be lucky not to be swept away!" Julian chuckled, watching the windows rattle nervously.

"Don't you have a wife?"

"Aye, a son as well, with another one on the way," Julian said. Arno smiled, idly stirring the coffee with his finger. "I wouldn't drink that monsieur."

"You should get home Julian, to your family," Arno said. He looked over at Élise, who had rolled onto her side. "I need to get back to mine."

"Good night then," Julian said, as he closed the door and left. Arno went over to Élise and touched her shoulder. She had a confused look on her face.

"Here, drink this," he said.

"What? I don't want coffee, Arno, I need to tell you about—"

"No, no," he said, pinning her hands down and pressing the cup to her lips. "Drink. You'll feel better. It'll help you sleep."

She parted her lips slightly, sipping at the coffee as Arno tilted it up. "There's something else in the coffee," she said, frowning as she tried to place it. "Did you put something in this Arno?"

"It'll help you sleep, drink," he said. She glared at him and drank the rest of the coffee. He set it aside and held her hand. "Everything will be okay Élise, we'll talk in the morning. Right now, you just need to rest."

"My arms… my head…" she whispered. He watched her eyes glaze over, her breathing slowing as the laudanum was beginning to take effect. "Arno, what did you put… in that coffee?" she asked.

"I had Julian put a bit of laudanum," he said, "to help you relax. Élise, please don't fight it." He didn't want her to know how worried he had been. How he feared something terrible had happened to her out in that storm or how relieved he was when he had found her and disturbed about the destruction she had wrought in her father's study. "Just rest Élise," he said.

"I have… no choice," she whispered, eyes finally closing. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed it back quickly. The wind howled and Arno wondered if the storm would return again. He hoped it didn't. He looked at her a few more minutes before leaving and heading to the Sanctuary. He was going to talk to Trenet about looking for the ledger.

* * *

It was chilly beneath in the Sanctuary, the fires in the hearths did little heat up the cavernous spaces carved out for the living rock. He blew on his hands, footsteps muffled against the red carpet as he made his way to Trenet's study. The Assassins on guard eyed him, their eyes bright beneath their hoods. He wondered what they were thinking. He took a right and headed towards the wooden doors. He raised his fist to knock then thought better of it.

"Didn't Bellec teach you to knock?" Trenet asked, looking up from her papers. He couldn't help but smirk at the annoyance in her tone. Though he privately chided himself that he shouldn't be pushing her buttons if he wanted to get more leeway in investigating. The room was smaller than the spacious chambers beyond, though was no warmer. Books lined the mahogany shelves behind her desk and there were marble busts of previous Mentors, including Mirabeau and his grandfather. "What do you want Arno?" Trenet asked. He looked at her, before walking over to the globe. He spun it idly.

"What makes you think I want something?" he asked, tracing boarders of France with his fingers, a large star marked Paris. He looked at the new United States, wondering about the land that sparked the desire for revolution in France. Jefferson's homeland seemed mysterious and exciting. So much larger than France.

"Normally you would have waited until tomorrow and spoken with the council. You want something, what is it."

Water dripped somewhere far off, but he could hear it due to the pregnant silence as he spun the globe around. He slapped a hand onto it, stopping it and then looked at Trenet. "Élise and I have discussed the Lady Eve situation," Arno said.

"A minor matter when the entire government is literally crashing down around itself. Ever since Robespierre's death—"

"He was a Templar—"

"Which you and Élise orchestrated—"

"Working for Germain!" His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing. She was going to pin the blame for the dissolvement of the National Assembly on him. "You know it's true."

"Regardless," Trenet said, "he was holding everything together."

A muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. "I tried to warn the Council about what Germain was planning," Arno said, keeping his voice level. "And your response was to ignore and banish me. You can hardly blame me for taking matters into my own hands once I was no longer under your command."

"You disobeyed our commands," Trenet said.

"I had leads, I followed them. You knew how much finding why Monsieur de la Serre was murdered meant to me."

"Beylier and Quemar said you were obsessed with vengeance and—"

"I sought  _redemption_!" He snapped, before turning his back on her. He took several calming breaths and ran a hand over his face before he began to pace. "Lady Eve isn't some minor thing. I don't believe she is directly involved with the dissolving of the National Assembly, that's a direct result of Germain's fall." He turned to face her. "Élise and I both believe that Lady Eve is a by-product of the absence of a strong leader among the Templars. Élise is doing everything she can to secure her position as Grand Master and fill the void."

"I understand Arno, but you are to investigate the Chevalier's underground duelist club," Trenet said. "Lady Eve is a Templar matter."

"Élise and I don't believe so. Élise believes — and I agree — that Lady Eve is cause for the Assassins to be concerned and that the Chevalier is directly linked to Lady Eve. The duelist club is a front to recruit soldiers and to glean information from the masses. It has a strong attendance."

"What are you suggesting?" Trenet asked, leaning back in her chair. He licked his lips and looked at the Mentor.

"I want full latitude in investigating this. Wherever it may lead, I want to see it to the end. Even if it takes me years." He looked at her. "I will follow it regardless if I get council approval."

"Twisting my arm." She smirked, and stood up. "Bellec did say you had potential for greatness." She clasped her hands behind her back. "Very well, I grant your request, but I want you to keep the council updated on any developments you come across, do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Mentor," Arno said. "Bellec… said I would be great?"

"He believed so yes," Trenet said, "Bellec had a talent for seeing potential. He saw it in your father and… he saw it in you."

Arno nodded. "Good night Mentor," he whispered.

"Good night Arno," Trenet said. He left, following the path he came by.

* * *

The silence of the Café Théâtre was eerie, broken only by the tick-tock of the clocks and the drone pitter-patter of the rain. His boots made a clop-clop sound on the floors as he walked towards his room. The first thing he noticed upon entering was that the fire had died to glowing embers. He added a few more logs on the fire before taking off his coat and waistcoats. He yanked the red cravat off and hung it up. He sighed, pulling his boots off before finally sinking into a chair. He rubbed his brow, wiggling his toes in his stockings. Finally, he pulled the ribbon from his hair, it fell around his shoulders finally free of its confines. Frowning, he got up and moved the chair next to Élise.

He sat again and pulled out his pocket watch. The candles on the nightstand had burned down to nubs, with just enough light for him to read the cracked face of his watch. "Nearly midnight," he sighed, as he took her hand. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. He snapped it close and exhaustion finally swept over him, his eyelids slipping over his world-weary eyes.

* * *

Aureate sunlight with dust motes dancing 'twixt the heavenly rays filled the room the next day. Voices from downstairs echoed in the halls, laughter and greetings and the scents of breakfast slowly wound their way up to fill the entire space with the smells of baking bread and roasting meats. Outside the citizenry of Paris began their days, women minding children and going to market, men off to work and revolutionaries singing patriotic songs.

Élise hummed softly. Her body felt heavy, her head fuzzy and her mouth dry as a desert. She moved her tongue about, forcing her mouth to salivate, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Yawning, she sat up and looked at the golden glow of the room. Arno was sitting in a chair besides her. One hand resting in his lap, cradled his pocket watch; the other dangled over the arm rest. His chin rested against his chest, dark hair hiding his face and soft snores escaped him. She smiled, and tucked some hair behind his ear. He jerked awake, only to wince at the kink in his neck. "Oh… that was a bad idea," he grumbled, rubbing his neck. She giggled. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied. "Why didn't you just get into bed?"

"I didn't want to disturb you," he said, cupping her chin and pulling her close. She smiled as they shared a kiss. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Woozy," she said, pulling away. She yawned, stretching and one shoulder became exposed. She smiled at him. "But I feel a lot better after having slept."

"Good." He stood with a groan, stretching out his back. "Remind me to never sleep in a chair again.

"Alright," she said. "Arno… about last night, I—"

"Don't," he said, "don't apologize, I pushed you and you weren't ready." He looked at her, giving her a comforting smile. She watched him get ready for the day, playing with the lacy cuff of her night gown. The secret — the final one — weighed on her heavily, like a twelve-pound cannonball in her gut. She licked her lips.

"It was my second miscarriage," she said, her voice strong and steady. He turned as he stuffed the ends of his cravat beneath his waistcoats. Her throat constricted as his eyes fell upon her. "I was pregnant… once before."

His hands fell to his side. "When?" he asked, his voice soft, a maelstrom of emotions in his eyes. "Élise, when were you pregnant the first time?" he forced out.

She stared at the floor. "When the king was guillotined. I ended up losing the baby." She sniffed, wiping her nose. She couldn't look at him, couldn't watch him realize she was carrying their child as she tried to senselessly chase after Germain. It was still a sore spot between them. She sucked in a breath when he grabbed her hands. "Arno?" she searched his face, seeing the conflicting emotions as the realization dawned on him. He squeezed her hands; she could feel the pads of his thumbs pressing on the back of her hands.

"Why… didn't… Élise you were  _pregnant_  when the king was beheaded? When we confronted Germain for the first time?" he asked. Élise licked her lips, looking away from him. The cats were in their basket, and she could hear one of the maids humming a song. A log cracked in the fire and she winced when Arno's grip on her hands tightened. "Answer me, Élise." She didn't want to break his heart. She had been breaking his heart too often. He didn't deserve her.

"You… we should call off the wedding, break the engagement."

"No," he growled. "You opened the door, don't try to close it," he said. "Tell  _me_ ,  _please!_ "

She bit her lip, pressing he teeth into the soft flesh until they bled. She had hoped to never tell him about this, to never let him know that she was willing to let herself die —  _"I am willing to risk everything to bring Germain down!"_  — despite knowing their child grew in her womb. It felt like a noose was around her choking heart. Tears spilled over, rolling down her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly.

The pressure on the back of her hands let up, Arno pulled away from her and began to pace. She watched him tug at his hair, bite his fist, clench and unclench his hands. She sat still, waiting for him to lash out, hit her, beat the table, throw a chair.  _Anything_. "You… You got mad at me," he said, facing her, "for saving your life! You knew you were pregnant and you still—"

"I told you I was willing to risk everything—"

"Even our child, Élise!" he roared. "Our child was in your belly! Didn't you even once think about our baby?"

"Arno—"

"No! No! How could you put yourself at risk! Like that, in the condition you were in?"

"I don't need you to protect me!"

"Actually, you do," he hissed, "because sometimes you are so reckless that you don't think about the consequences of your actions and how it'll affect others!"

His words slapped her in the face, causing her to bow her head in shame, knowing that he was right. "Arno…"

"Didn't you even care?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me?" He looked at her. "You haven't told me twice, Élise! What happens if you get pregnant again? Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to leave me in the dark again and let me figure it out on my own?"

"Arno, please let me explain, I—"

"Honestly, Élise don't you think that's something a deserve to know? I mean, I fathered both, right? Don't I deserved to know about my own children?"

"I didn't tell you the first time because I knew you'd lock me up in a tower to keep me safe," she snapped, slapping the bed as she got to her feet. "The second time I just… I wasn't ready to be a mother. I wasn't ready to be a mother the first time either."

"I should have! You deliberately put our baby at risk!" His looked at her, heartbroken. She felt her own heart breaking — he was sweaty, smelly, the white shirt stained with things she didn't want to know about. His beard had grown in and he swore up and down that he had no knowledge of the letter's contents. He gave her own last look before leaving her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart — she clutched her hands to her chest, watching as the tears rolled down his cheeks. "I guess I wasn't far off the mark then," he whispered, looking at the painting above the hearth, his voice choked with tears. "You are ashamed of carrying an Assassin's child."

The noose around her choking heart finally cinched tight and it stilled; the cannonball fell and leaving her empty inside. "No, no, no, no! Arno, no, I… I love you! I love you so much and—"

"Yet both times that you were pregnant with my child, you didn't tell me! Me, the child's father! What about next time?"

"Arno, I would! I would tell you!"

"I don't believe you!" he bellowed. "I fathered those children! I had a right to know you were pregnant! I would have married you so you wouldn't face the shame of having a child out of wedlock, I would have taken care of you and the baby." He wiped his mouth, shoulders rising and falling. "My children." He looked at her. "All I wanted you and a family. I grew up an orphan, all I wanted in my entire life was to have a place to belong, a home to come home to, filled with unconditional love."

"And you'll have that," she said, reaching for him, "with me. You said so yourself that we'll have other children." She took a few steps, but he backed away. She lowered her hand, feeling the pain spread throughout her body. His rejection. It… it hurt. It hurt more than losing her father and mother. This was an all-consuming pain. She bit her lip to keep from crying.

He looked out at the rooftop garden. "I'm not sure if I want that with you anymore," he whispered. Élise choked, it felt as if he had pierced her dying heart with an icicle, the cold seeping throughout her body.

"Arno…" she whispered, her voice trapped in her throat. Tears burned behind her eyes and she covered her mouth with shaky hands. "No… Arno, I—" she fell to her knees, sobbing. "Arno, please!" She couldn't lose Arno too.

"I need to think," he said. "I can't… no more secrets, Élise." He finished dressing, gathered his weapons. She looked up at him, eyes red and puffy with tears cascading down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said, pulled up his hood and left.

* * *

Arno ran. The sound of his boots thudding against rooftiles synchronizing with his heart beat and breathing. He jumped across the street, grunted as he landed on the other roof. Pebbles scattered down below as he regained his footing and continued on, his eyes fixed on the towering bell towers of Notre Dame. He wanted to get up high, look upon the city like some judgmental god reading to reign down divine justice. "Don't stop," he whispered to himself as he crossed the rope that connected on building to Notre Dame. He climbed to the roof and then ran towards the towers, climbing up them is always the real challenge. He reached the left tower and began his ascent. "Don't think," he told himself about half way up, the muscles in his arms and legs burning. Still he forced himself heavenwards. Maybe once he was on top he'll feel closer to God, closer to some semblance of answers. He hoped so, he hoped that this run will ease the ache in his heart.

He refused to think about Élise as he climbed. Thinking about her and everything they could of had, would just distract him. The air whipped at his coattails, chilled the sweat on his face and buffed his hood. He was glad for his gloves; they prevented his sweaty hand from slipping. He saw the end in sight, and grunted as he hauled his tired body up the last few feet.

Once on top of the left bell tower he collapsed on his stomach, panting. Climbing up here was exhausting be he never felt so tired before.  _Maybe it was because I slept in a chair last night?_  He thought as he got to his feet. He got onto the railing and jumped to the other tower, grabbing a gargoyle and pulling himself up onto it then climbed over the railing. He walked to the edge as he lowered his hood, looking over the square. An eagle screamed somewhere and he looked around for it but the bird remained unseen in the sky. He smirked.

Below him, the people of Paris still shouted and screamed, yet it was hard to hear from up here and the Revolution and all the heartache it had brought felt like it was so far away. The wind whipped his hair around his face. He felt peaceful, almost closer to God… almost. A wry smirk spread across his lips as he thought about that. He pulled his watch out, to check the time. "Papa," he whispered, tracing the cover before popping the watch over to check the time.

"Do you have any idea what time it is Arno?" Charles asked as he popped his watch open to check the time. "It's past midnight!"

Arno whimpered hugging the stuffed dragon Fleur made him closer to his chest. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the white cotton sleeve of his nightgown. "I'm sorry, Papa," he said. "Don't get mad at Fleur, she tried to send me back to bed." He shuffled his feet before rushing closer to Charles and hugging his father around the waist. "I had a bad dream."

"Arno," Charles sighed. Arno smiled when his father ran a hand through his hair. "You're almost seven. You need to master your own fears," he said. "Have courage my boy."

"But it really was a monster beneath my bed!" Arno protested, pouting when his father chuckled and sat down. He crawled into his father's lap and rested his head against his shoulder. He felt safe with his father's warm hand on his head. There was the faint smell of cognac on his father's breath, Arno could see two empty glasses on the table. "Did Monsieur Bellec come by?" Arno asked.

"He did, for a little bit." Charles pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "What was your dream about?"

"Mother." He flicked his eyes up to his father's face. "She was a witch and tried to eat me. That's why you made her leave."

"My boy, you have an imagination," Charles chuckled. "What in God's name gave you the idea that your mother was a witch wanting to eat you?"

"Monsieur Sauveterre told me about Louis XIV, the Sun King," Arno said, "he also said that there was a time when Louis was seduced by the witch, the Madame de Montespan."

Charles laughed and hugged his boy. "Oh Arno. That is just a rumor. The Madame de Montespan wasn't a witch. She was just a normal woman, ambitious, but certainly not a witch. Your great-grandfather worked for the Sun King, he was under command of the king's minister of police. The Madame de Montespan didn't care for your great-grandfather too much."

"Why? Did Great-Grandfather do anything wrong?" Arno asked. He watched his father open his mouth then close it, as if he was torn between telling him something and keeping a secret.

"Your great-grandfather's only wrong doing was that he was a tad too good at his job," Charles said. "Now you need to get to bed and I'll speak to Monsieur Sauveterre about filling your head with ghost stories."

Arno huffed, and kissed the top of his toy dragon. He looked over at the table again where an unfinished letter was. "Who are you writing to Papa?" Arno asked, frowning when his father looked sad. "Are you writing to Mother?"

"Trying to would be a better phrase," Charles said.

"Why?" Arno asked. "Are you going to ask her to come back? Since she's not a witch, she can come back right?"

"It's… a bit more complicated than that," Charles said, rubbing his nose against Arno's hair. Arno frowned. His father normally was never this open about his absent mother, and he wondered if his father had a bit more to drink than he normally did.

"Do you hate her?"

"No, Arno, I could never hate your mother," Charles said, but Arno could hear the tears in his father's voice.

"Then why are you writing to her?" he asked.

"To tell her… I forgive her," Charles said. "For leaving us, for hurting me."

"Well, I hate her," he declared with all the confidence of a six-year-old. "She made you cry and I love you, so she must be mean. I don't want to ever see her ever again."

Charles hugged him. "You have a lot to learn about life and love my boy," Charles said. "It's… it's harder to forgive but it's worth it in the end."

"Forgiving someone that hurt you is a weakness. That's why the king never forgives his enemies."

"You're wrong Arno," Charles said, his voice stern. "Forgiveness is the greatest strength a man can have. Never think of it as a weakness. You must have courage to forgive, even your enemies."

Arno frowned. It didn't make sense. "If someone hurt you, Papa… I wouldn't forgive them. I'd hate them. I'd hate them so much and want to kill them."

"Ah, well," Charles sighed, "you're young. You'll understand one day when you're older." He patted Arno's back. "It's bed time. Come, I'll tuck you back in and check beneath your bed."

He grinned as he slid off his father's lap and grabbed his hand. They passed the old Grandfather clock and it chimed the half hour.

The bells of Notre Dame knelled, and the vibrations traveled up Arno's legs, jarring him out of his retrieve. He stuffed his watch back into his pocket and edged his out on the ledge. He looked down. His father was right. It took great courage to forgive, and he'll forgive Élise. Forgiveness was better than hatred anyway.

He frowned, his thoughts drifting to the mysterious Shay Cormac, and his childish vow to hate him for killing his father. He wondered if he even hated the man. His father's death seemed so long ago, so irreversible. It didn't matter at the moment, he had no leads on Cormac anyway. He was going to talk to Élise and work on fixing their relationship. But first, he was going to find the ledger. Pleased that he had a plan, he jumped, it was the fastest way down after all.

* * *

Élise sat in front of the fire, the mother cat on her lap, and the kittens playing at her feet. She tried not to think about wat Arno said. She sipped her tea, watching the fire and the kittens. Her breakfast was untouched on the table by the window. The door opened, but she didn't bother to call out. It wasn't Arno. That much she was sure of. He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. She lost him, just like she lost everyone else in her life. She had nobody. "Mademoiselle Élise?" Helene called.

"I'm not in the mood, Helene," Élise said. "Go away."

"It's uh… Mr. Weatherall says he has arranged a luncheon with some… men of great importance from Italy, that can help you."

Élise gently pushed the cat off her lap, smiling as the mother cat was promptly attacked by her hungry kittens. She stepped around the furry family and went over to Helene. "What?" she asked.

"You're still not dress! Mademoiselle!" Helene clicked her tongue. "Mr. Weatherall will be very put out if you don't attend this."

"I don't want to," she said, "he can be Grand Master for all I care."

"It's about the fight you and Monsieur Dorian had this morning," Helene said. Élise winced. "Everyone heard him."

"Lovely." Élise took a sip of her tea. "Not the harmonious Assassin-Templar couple we appear to be and now everyone knows. I bet Trenet is questioning the alliance she made with me."

"Couples fight," Helene said with a shrug. "He'll come back."

"Not this time."

"Don't say that!" Helene said, looking at Élise, aghast. She then went back to laying out Élise's clothes. "He  _loves_  you. You are the light of his life."

"I didn't tell him out the first pregnancy… I risked my life trying to kill Germain the day the king died… he…" Élise sniffed, pressing her hand against her nose. "He knows—"

"Élise," Helene said, taking her by the shoulders. "Arno is upset and hurt, yes, all that is true. But I know that in his heart he loves you. Only you and no one else. He'll forgive you. He's a good man. He'll come back."

"What if he doesn't Helene?" Élise asked. "What if I lost him forever now? I… I don't know what I'd do."

"You'll cross that bridge  _if_  it comes to that. You won't be alone, anyway, you'll have me and Mr. Weatherall. But right now, you need to think about the Templars, you are the Grand Master. The  _only_  woman with the title in all of Europe, you can't show your pain."

"Yes," Élise said, "of course, you're right Helene." She finished her tea and handed it to her maid. "Let's get ready then."

* * *

They entered the café, Élise made a face about the closeness and gloom of the café. She had gotten use to the Café Théâtre's spaciousness and cheer. She thanked Helene and sent her handmaiden away, and spotted Weatherall in a far corner, two gentlemen sitting with him. She walked over to her teacher and his guests. "Sorry," she said, "I over slept."

"That's fine, Élise, sit," Weatherall said. Élise was about to pull her chair out when the younger of the two strange men rose.

"Allow me,  _signorina_ ," he said, pulling her chair out for her with a bright tooth smile. Élise arched a brow before sitting, grimacing at the noxious smell of body order coming from the older gentleman, she wished she had a nosegay. She didn't bother thanking him, instead turning her attention to Weatherall.

"Why am I here?" Élise asked, ignoring the two other men.

"Élise, may I introduce some… associates of ours," Weatherall said, gesturing to the two men. Élise looked at them, both were finely dressed with frilly lace at their throats. The elder was an ugly man with a large nose and lips set in a small face with droopy eyes. His grey hair was curled at the sides and tied at the nap with a black silk ribbon. The younger man was more attractive with olive skin and sea-green eyes, his dark hair was cropped closed to his skull, curling at the edges. He had a roman nose and though his lips were thin, Élise figured he was passably handsome. "Ercole Rinaldo d'Este, and his son Giovanni… da Modena."

"Da Modena? Interesting." Élise leaned back in her chair. "Mr. Weatherall what's this about?"

"We come from Italy, maddemazella," Ercole said, "I am the current Grand Master of the Italian Rite. My daughter, Maria Beatrice, is my successor. This is my bastard, Giovanni."

"Explains the unusual surname," Élise said. "What brings you all the way to Paris. I'm sure your duchy is rather nice this time of year."

Ercole chuckled. "I wouldn't say it's nice; as to why we have come, maddemazella, you are the reason."

"Me?" Élise laughed. "Surely, I'm not the reason. I mean, Paris is a beautiful city, but the revolution has caused it to fall into such disarray." She waved her hand in a vague manner. "I'm sorry France is not as becoming as Italy."

"Don't be ashamed Maddemazella de la Serre, all cities have their good days and bad days," Ercole said, "even fair Modena has her bad days."

"As you know, Élise here—"

"Surely," Élise said, cutting Weatherall off, "seeing me and my broken city isn't what brought you all this way." She leaned forward, interlacing her fingers. She held the gaze of the two Italians. She remembered her mother's teachings, about showing no fear or emotion, especially around men accustomed to holding power. She did not need to them to know she was emotionally vulnerable. "What do you want?"

"We want to help you, maddemazella," Ercole said.

Élise wrinkled her nose. Ercole's butchering of  _mademoiselle_  was grating to hear."I'm sure you've seen what the Revolution has done to Paris. You must surely have heard of my father's death and more recently the death of François-Thomas Germain."

" _S_ _ì_ _signorina_ ," Ercole said, "we have."

"Then you also know that I'm the current Grand Master and my official ascension ceremony and soirée honoring that will be held later this month."

" _S_ _ì_ , we hope to attend."

Élise clenched her teeth, a vein in her temple pulsating. "Lovely, I will make sure you both receive an invitation in due course." She gave Weatherall a pretty smile and a knowing look. He muttered something in English and bowed his head.

"We are also here to help you  _signorina_ ," Giovanni said. "My father and I… want to guide you along the path of a good and justi Grand Master."

"The Assassini," Ercole said with a grimace, "have had a strong hold in Roma, Venezia and Firenze since Ezio Auditore restored the Brotherhoods in those regions. I have been doing my best to restore those regions to Templar control, but alas, my efforts seem to have been in vain."

"France has been an Assassin stronghold since 1312," Élise said with a grimace. She loved Arno, but it still irked her that the Templars lost control of France. She looked up when Giovanni placed his hand on hers. She glanced at him, a frown on her lips and pulled her hand away.

"We merely wish to guide you  _signorina_ ," Giovanni said. "My father cannot stay in Paris, as he is Duke of Modena. I, however, can." Giovanni smiled

"Won't you miss Italy?" Élise asked, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. She shifted her chair closer to Weatherall. "I don't want to keep you here in Paris."

"Ah,  _signorina_ ," Giovanni said, placing a hand over his heart, "what is the city of Modena compared to you?" He scooped her hand up again, Élise gave a tug but his grip was firm. "A beautiful rose amongst the chaos of revolution… poets more skilled than I will never be able to capture such exquisite beauty." He kissed the back of her hand. "I would gladly give up Modena to remain by your side."

Élise stared at Giovanni for several long moments before the chilling realization clicked. She bared her teeth as she pulled her hand away. "I don't believe this!" she seethed. "Marriage?" She turned her attention to Weatherall. "Did you know about this? Did you know that this is what they wanted? You know I love Arno! You knew we are engaged!" she said. She swallowed, wondering if Weatherall planned this because of the fight she and Arno had. She couldn't believe Weatherall would betray her like this, but then again, Templars have never been known to play nice with Assassins. She fixed her gaze back to the Italians. "You expect me to marry your bastard?"

" _Sì_ ," Ercole said. Élise felt her blood rush to her face in anger. "You have yet to take a husband and if you have made such arrangements you've kept them to yourself maddemazella. Giovanni can't reasonably stay in Modena as he's already drawing questioning looks. I don't need a bastardo to sully my image."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you stuck your prick into the whore that gave birth to him," Élise said, primly.

"Why you—"

"As for marriage, I'm already engaged," Élise said. "My groom-to-be is Arno Dorian," she paused, "an Assassin." There she said it. It was going to come out sooner or later that she married an Assassin. Might as well be on her terms.

Their little corner fell silent as the Italians stared at her in shock. " _Mio Dio!_ " Ercole muttered and swiftly crossed him. "An A-Assassino!"

" _Merda per merda,_ " Giovanni hissed. " _Signorina_ , I cannot let you marry that… that…  _maledetto stronzo!_ "

"Lucky for me, I'm the bride and not you." She stood up. "I believe we're done here. You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you like, though I don't think you'd be inclined to attend my soirée."

" _Per piacere_   _signorina_ ," Giovanni said, grabbing Élise's arm. "Do not marry him. Do not marry the brutto assassino."

Élise yanked her arm free. "You have no right to tell me who I am to marry or not to marry. Not even my father would prevent me from marrying Arno, what makes you think you have any say over me, hmm?"

"I protest,  _signorina_ ," Giovanni said, "because I fear you are making a mistake. Marrying this… this Arno… an Assassino, is wrong."

"I love him and he loves me. I will have no other man."

" _Ma_ …  _Ma_ …" Giovanni yanked at his hair, clearly desperate to convince her otherwise. "He is a…  _cazzo_ ,  _assassino di porca!_ "

Élise's eyes grew wide. She took a step forward and slapped Giovanni. The sound of flesh striking flesh broke the chatter of the café, and the patrons turned to look at what was going on. Giovanni rubbed his abused jaw. " _So quello stai dicendo, cazzo! Sei un figlio di puttana, bastardo._ " She spat at his feet. " _Tu maledetto bastardo brutto_." Élise did an about-face and marched out of the little café. She glanced up at the sky, huffing and shaking her head. " _Che coglione_ ," she muttered, baffled at the audacity of the Italians. She was going home to get her weapons and then go look for Arno.

* * *

The Cour des Miracles was an unhappy place even in the daylight. Paris's slums reeked of piss, shit, blood and underlining smell of rot. He stepped around the worst of the mud, avoiding the eyes of the beggars and dodging the reaching grasps of the whores. Even with Roi des Thunes dead it didn't seem like the lives of the people here had gotten better. "Maybe even worse," Arno muttered, heading towards the entrance to the catacombs. Once inside he lit a lantern, illuminating the passage and casting eerie shadows on the skulls that lined the walls. Rats squeaked back into the shadows and the dripping of water could be heard in the distance. He began to head towards the arena.

He spotted the Chevalier's office and headed towards it. "Absolutely not!" A woman shouted. Arno doused his lantern and crouched into a hiding spot in the shadows. He slowed his breathing, though his heart beat a rapid tattoo against his chest. "What is she thinking though?"

"I don't know Estel—"

"Chevalier!" the first woman snapped. "You know that. Never doubt that we are alone. Ears are always listening, eyes always watching."

"Of course, Chevalier," the second woman said. Arno frowned, her French was Parisian. There was a slow, husky drawl on the vowels and a flattening of the R's, and a more nasal sound on the J's and G's. He wondered where she was from to acquire such an accent like that. "It's just that Madame Tascher de la Pagerie was wondering how much longer are you going to keep this charade going. She's worried."

"About what?" the Chevalier asked. There was a pause, the second woman thinking about how to phrase her next point.

"The de la Serre girl," she said, "is a rallying point for the royalists and those of the Old Guard that felt shortly after François de la Serre's murder."

"So? There is nothing to worry about from her. She has no support, nobody is willing to openly declare their loyalty to the de la Serre name. The mobs will cry and behead them. Germain was a rapid dog, but he broke the de la Serres." The Chevalier said. "Besides the de la Serre girl threw her lot in with the Assassins. I even hear she's fucking one."

Arno ground his teeth and gripped the wall. How dare they speak of Élise like that. He stayed put when the women began to speak again.

"She has a few men on her side, those bred in the Revolution. Murat, Talleyrand and Fouché."

"Fouché is one of ours. He has his orders," the Chevalier said. Arno's eyes widen, he had to tell Élise and Weatherall to keep Fouché at a safe distance. "Anything else?"

"Madame Tascher de la Pagerie plans on swaying that young general."

"The Corsican upstart?" The Chevalier snorted. "Why?"

"He's ambitious, and has already stumbled on… artifacts," the second woman said. "She hasn't figured out how to arrange a meeting between them."

"Hmm. I guess that would be a boon. He won't side with the Assassins, no matter how much he loves the ideals of the Revolution. Rose made that clear enough. No, the Corsican is more in line with Templar ideology."

Arno pulled his lips back in a snarl. First these people plot against Élise and now they are seeking to drag Napoleon into their web. He had yet to talk to Napoleon about the events in Franciade, but he didn't want these people to hook their claws into him. Napoleon was a good man, despite his ambitions. He wondered who this Madame Tascher de la Pagerie is, he had never heard of the name before. He may have to ask Élise if there was a Tascher de la Pagerie family that he wasn't aware about. He shifted care to not make a sound.

"And the Assassins?" the second woman asked.

"Don't worry about them. By the time they realize what's going on it'll be too late to stop us," the Chevalier said.

"Wasn't your father an Assassin?"

"And was killed by the Assassins," the Chevalier said, "and I will find the one that killed my father and end him myself."

Arno swallowed, wondering if this woman was Bellec's daughter. Then again her father could have turned and was actually a Templar. Either way, he better find out who she was and not give too much away, maybe ask Weatherall and Grisier to train him so his style wasn't so much like Bellec's.

"Is that all?" the second woman asked.

"It is. Tell Madame Tascher de la Pagerie that everything is going accoding to plan," the Chevalier said. "The bishop guides the queen."

Arno smirked. Élise's theory was right. This mysterious Madame Tascher de la Pagerie was the Lady Eve, who's code name was the Reine. The second woman was the Bishop and clearly from one of France's colonies, which one was a mystery. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows when he heard them walk pass his hiding spot. The Chevalier was as he remembered but her companion, the Bishop, had deep dark skin. Her hair was wrapped with a faded cloth and her dress was well made but faded, a servant's dress. Adorning her neck was a silver chain with a red cross. She was clearly a former slave, probably from the French West Indies, and still employed by her former owner. He watched them go by. Once he was sure they were gone he snuck into the office.

A portrait of Robespierre hung on the wall, a single candle burned on the desk. He checked the drawers and the chests, picking locks as need be. No ledger book. He kept glancing at the portrait. He found it odd and a bit unnerving, as if eyes were watching him. He went over to it, remember how Élise shot the man in the jaw when he refused to give up Germain's location. Arno shook his head, taking the portrait down and finding a safe. He picked the lock again, smirking when it opened. Inside was a red leather-bound book. He too it, noting the cross impressed into the leather. He tucked it away, closing the safe and replacing the portrait. He left the office and snuck out of the catacombs.

* * *

It was dusk by the time he returned. He found Helene giggling in a corner with Jean-Jacques. "So, you're flirting with the brother while sleeping with the sister," he said, smirking. Helene flushed.

"It's… complicated," Helene muttered.

"I should go," Jean-Jacques said, retreating quickly. Arno watched him go before turning to Helene.

"Don't worry about it," he said, "I'm not upset. You can bed whomever you choose."

"Thank you," she muttered. "Élise is out at the moment, she's—"

"I return and I find you speaking with my maid," Élise said, walking up to them. Helene's face grew hot and Arno's face paled. Helene squeaked and ran off, leaving Arno near the stairs with his angry fiancée.

"It wasn't like that," he said, once Élise was close enough to hear him whisper. "I was just asking after you."

"I was out looking for you!" Élise said. "I had an… engagement I had to attend and then I came back to get my weapons to look for you."

"Why?" he asked, "I told you I needed to be alone. That I wanted to think."

"I was worried about you!" she hissed. "You may have broken my heart and—"

"I for—"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Tut-tut," she cooed, a saucy smirk spreading along her lips. "I want you," she said, a soft growl in her words. He felt a lustful shudder spread through his body, an easy smirk coming to his lips.

"I want you too," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. There will be time to tell her afterwards. "I also found out some things that may prove interesting."

"Business can wait," she said, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. "I have pent up frustrations and I need your help to let them loose."

"I like the sound of that," he said, following her up. His breeches were starting to get tight.

A man in military livery entered the lobby, fixing them with a fierce stare. "I'm looking for an Arno Dorian," he said. Arno stopped, frowning slightly. He hoped this didn't take long.

"I'm Arno," he said, letting go of Élise's hand and headed down the stairs. The man met him halfway and whipped out a letter, sealed with red wax and a stylized B in the heart.

"Letter from General Bonaparte."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And chapter 23 is done! Phew! Hehehe I'm glad I got it done this weekend. Now I can focus on chapter 24. :3
> 
> The Italian in English: I know what you're saying, fuck! You're a son of a bitch, bastard. You damn ugly bastard.
> 
> Thank you turquoise_tacos for the help with the Italian! And thank you to randomnessandfandoms for some dialogue during the argument scene
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> Nemo et Nihil
> 
> I'm going to finish Versailles now... maybe. Hopefully.


	24. There are Colors in the Dark

Élise pouted as Arno took the letter from the envoi, she wanted the pompous looking man to leave. "Oh, he's a general now?" he chuckled, he already knew that. The man's tightly clenched jaw twitched as he snapped his heels together and did an about-face. "Charming fellow." He smiled at her. She shook her head and grabbed his hand, tugging on it.

"Come," she purred, "I want you." She gave his hand another tug before trotting to their room. He chuckled and followed her. Once he was inside, she pulled him into a searing kiss, her hands tugging at his belts. "I want you in me, buried deep and fucking me hard." She kissed his neck, nipping at the skin, she could taste the residue of his sweat. She cupped his groin and gave him a squeeze, smirking when he groaned.

"Élise," he growled, yanking the door shut and tossing Napoleon's letter onto the desk. She grinned when his hands squeezed her breasts, running over her stomach and cupping her hips. He tugged insistently at her trousers. Their lips found each other in fierce kisses. She growled once she worked his pants loose enough to slip a hand down them and gave him another squeeze. His gave a sharp gasp. "Minx."

"You love it," she said, her blue eyes smoldering as she stroked him a few times before running her hand up his chest. He slipped his hands beneath her clothes, finding the strings binding her corset, grinning into the kiss once her breasts were free. She moaned as he fondled them, continuing to lead him back towards the bed.

She grunted when the back of her legs hit the bed and he pushed her down on it. "I'm going to take you hard and fast," he growled, kissing her jaw. She groaned, arching against him as yanked her pants down. She mewed loudly when he began to thrust his fingers into her. It didn't take her long to get nice at went for him. She panted, her two waistcoats and shirt askew, her breasts nearly popping out of her corset and her red hair splayed out on the green comforter like molten fire.

"I want you," she said, tracing her collarbone. She moaned when he responded by thrusting his fingers into her wet cunt. "I'm ready for you." She whimpered when he removed his fingers, only to grunt as he thrust himself into her, not bothering to give her time to adjust to his girth. She didn't care, the roughness felt good. Once in, he didn't waste time thrusting. He grabbed her thighs and lifted them up to deepen the angle. She cried out in delight, moaning and groaning, meeting his thrusts. The pain soon turned into pleasure and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling her up a bit closer, which deepened the angle and caused to cry out in bliss.

* * *

 

Nikolai sighed as he got to the rooftop gardens. He liked tending the plants here in the evening, as his final round before going home. Up here, everything was peaceful and there was a nice view of the Île de la Cité and he could see Notre Dame in the distance. The mornings were nice as well, and he'd sprinkle bird seed during his morning rounds to encourage the birds. Arno mentioned he liked watching the sparrows bathe in the small fountain. The cats seemed to appreciate his encouragement of the birds too. Even though Nikolai tried to prevent the cats from eating the birds.

He cleaned the gazebo, knowing Arno, and recently Élise, liked to read there when the weather proved amiable. One of the cats woke from its nap to meow at him. He smiled and petted the animal. "You catch a lot of mice monsieur?" he asked. The cat meowed. If people could no longer have titles, then he'll give titles to the animals. "That's good. Maybe you should come inside later and Andrée will give you some nice cream. Would you like that?" The cat meowed again. Nikolai smiled.

He jumped and the cat bolted when a thud broke the peaceful tranquility of the garden. Nikolai turned towards Arno's room and his eyes grew wide at the sight. Arno had Élise pressed up against the windows, her back red with scratch marks and his fingers gripping her perky pale ass. The windows shuddered each time they grunted, as Arno thrust into her. Nikolai adverted his eyes, but peeked over at them. He felt a stirring in his loins and bit his lip. They were lucky to have each other to have such passions. Nobody wanted him, he was just a gardener. It was harder to concentrate on tending the plants up here as Élise's blissful cries grew louder and louder. He tried to focus on watering the planets, but gave up when Élise began to shout Arno's name, leaving through the training room.

* * *

 

Élise sighed, resting her head on Arno's shoulder, playing with his chest hair. He put a hand on top of hers as he kissed her brow. "Stop. It's going to get all matted up and then I'll have to yank it out," he said. She giggled, petting his stomach instead.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much." He pulled her closer to him. "Are you feeling better?" he asked. She nodded. It felt good just having sex. All the pent-up emotions and frustrations from the argument earlier had been released. It was comforting to know Arno still loved her, still felt a carnal desire for her. She knew she was going to be sore in the morning, but knowing that she and Arno still shared that closeness was comforting and made any pain worth it. She frowned when Arno pulled away from her and went to the chamber pot to piss.

She rolled on her back, giggling at the feel of the sheets against her body. A dreamy smile appeared and she thought about the future, of their wedding. She ran her hands along her chest, over her breasts and down to her stomach. She froze, eyes widening as fear hooked its claws into her heart and mind. Arno came back, sighing contently as he snuggled up against her. "One… two… three…" he kissed the freckles on her shoulder. He ran his hands along her side, grinning as he did so.

 _What if get pregnant? What if I lose the child again? Why did I have sex?_ "It was a mistake," she whispered.

"What was?" he asked, looking up from her shoulder. "Élise?"

"I should never… how could I have been so foolish!" she pulled away from him, sitting up with her back to him. "I'm always so rash. I never think things through."

"Élise, what are you talking about?" he asked, scooting behind her and pulling her against his chest or at least he tried to. She pulled away from him in an angry huff. "Élise."

"No."

"Élise, talk to me," he said, going around to sit in front of her. She looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Élise, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Now what is this mistake?"

" _Us!_ " she snapped, tears blurring her vision. "What we just did… it was a mistake." She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. She didn't want to see the heartbreak in Arno's eyes, she could feel it in his slacked grip on her biceps.

"Mistake? What—I— _Élise_!" Arno's grip tightened on her biceps. "Élise, no. Why would our love making be a mistake?"

She looked up at him, tears cascading down her cheeks. "What if I get pregnant again and I lose the baby?" She hung her head. "I… I don't think I could live with myself. I… never again. I'll never have sex again." She hung her head, so he wouldn't see her tears.

"Oh… Élise," he said, "Élise." He pulled her into a hug, petting her hair, nuzzling his nose against her head, pressing soft kisses against her forehead. They haven't talked about the miscarriage since it happened. She sobbed in his embrace. She figured Arno had dealt with it on his own since he never brought up their lost child. She pressed her head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin the steady  _lub-dub_  of his heartbeat. She grieved. She cried for their lost child and accepted the pain, something she had refused to do for so long. She wanted that baby just as much as Arno. Freddie was right: there would be no perfect time to be a parent. If she wanted a child, she'd have to take her chances and trust that Arno would always protect her. He was here now, holding her as her body trembled with her sobs.

She saw mothers and babies everywhere, shooting jealous glances at the pregnant women and their round bellies, mothers with their children; knowing that she didn't have that joy, would never feel her child kick in her womb.

"Élise," Arno said, pulling he away slightly. She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. She wiped away her snot on the back of her hand, sniffing as she tried to calm down. "If you fall pregnant, I will be overjoyed." He kissed her forehead. "If you…. By some ill stroke of fortune, lose the child then we will grieve that child together. And once you are well and feeling at peace with what happened we will try again. We will keep trying until we conceive and you birth our healthy child."

"What if I never have a baby? What if I'm barren?" She looked up at him with horror filled eyes. "I… I have to give you a child… to repay you for helping me track down and kill Germain!" She reached for him, and he grabbed her hands, kissing her fingers.

"Élise, calm yourself. You're going to work yourself into hysterics." He smiled. "I don't need you to repay me. Besides, you are the one so adamant about us having no class distinction between us." He gave an amused chuckle. "All I ask is that you love me, as fiercely and passionately, as I love you. And if you are barren… the Revolution has made a lot of orphans so far. We can take a few in."

"How can you be so calm?" she asked.

"One of us has to keep a level head," he said, though his smile fell upon seeing her morose look. "I… I'm good at hiding my pain when it's required," he added. "Believe me I'm hurting inside. I feel like somehow… it's my fault you lost both pregnancies. Maybe if I had got Germain then… or paid more attention to you instead of brooding over my father's death and Cormac's involvement… done things different." He stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry I wasn't… you didn't want me around. The loss of those unborn children… makes me feel inadequate. That I somehow failed you." He pulled away from her then, and she felt him emotionally closing himself off from her. Panic seized her heart, realizing that this dark thought was different from previous ones he had before. "That I'll never be a good father or a good husband… that I'm a failure."

"No, Arno you're not—"

"That I haven't redeemed myself."

She grabbed his face in her hands, making her look at him. "No. Stop that thinking right now," she hissed, holding his gaze with her own. She could see the faint splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks. "You have redeemed yourself, countless times over. You are… you will be a good husband and a good father. You are a good person, Arno." She smiled, pressing her lips against his in a reassuring kiss. "I love you because you are a good man."

"Thank you." He pulled her into his lap, nosing her hair. She felt him relax as he took comfort embracing her. She ran her hand down his arm, content, the reassurance of his heart against her back made all the cares in the world melt away. Yawning, she realized that she was getting sleepy. "Tired?"

"A little," she whispered as she pulled away and snuggled against the pillows. "Lay down." She opened her arms wide and pleased he did so; she pulled him close until his back was against her chest. "Sleep." She wove her fingers with his, smiling when his grip tightened.

" _Bonne nuit mon amour_ ," he whispered.

" _Je t'aime_ , Arno." She kissed the back of his neck, her eye lids falling over her eyes as she fell into a peaceful sleep. The first one she could remember in five years.

* * *

 

September was giving way to October and the early autumn sun was a bright brilliant gold, the light streaming into their room. Muffled voices drifted up from the people hawking their wares mingling with patriotic songs. Élise opened her eyes to see the green wall of Arno's room in the Café Théâtre and the odd paintings he hung there. The previous night began to come back to her in bits and pieces: the rampant sex, the panic attack, telling Arno how much losing the baby has affected her and how she kept it to herself, his own admission that he too is hurting over the loss of their unborn child.

She sighed, rolling onto her back to stare at the canopy, an arm over her forehead. Everything felt too much. She felt trapped and constricted; being Templar Grand Master to a broken order, a fiancée to an Assassin, a woman still grieving the loss of her father, and the girl still grieving her mother. Tears pricked her eyes and outside a chicken squawked loudly as it protested its fate. She looked over at Arno. He always did prefer to sleep on his back, a faint smile on his lips and dark hair splayed about his pillow. He always rested his hand on his stomach when he slept. She noticed the freckles on his arms, just beneath the hair and how his skin was a tanner than hers do to running all over the rooftops of Paris. A thin white scar ran along his side. He murmured in his sleep and Élise giggled softly as the blankets around his waist began to rise.  _He must be having a really good dream,_  she thought.

She slipped from the bed, shivering in the early autumn air, with warmth of September's late summer still stubbornly refuse to submit to the chill of coming October. "We still haven't even discussed the wedding," she said, glancing over at Arno. She was tempted to wake him up but decided against it. Pulling on a robe, she headed to the fire and coaxed it back to life again. She smiled at the cats and gave them each a pat on the head before giving the mother some food. She took a deep breath and looked back at Arno, who had rolled over and was now laying on his stomach, soft grunts escaping him. She shook her head, a hand drifting to her flat stomach. She wondered if she got pregnant. Probably not but the desire still burned in her. She walked over to the bed and traced Arno's spine with her nail. He gave a guttural groan and she heard a soft  _pssht_  sound. She kissed just below his ear. "Was it a good dream?" she cooed.

He groaned, waking up and realizing what happened. " _Merde_ ," he grumbled "Yes it was." He got out of bed and she watched him take a piss. The muscles in his legs always fascinated her, especially how they sculpted up to his tight ass and then up his back; scars crisscrossed his back. "I'm sorry, I'll get a maid to change the sheets."

"It's fine." She sat down, watching as he took a seat next to her, their shared nakedness didn't bother the other. "Well."

"Good morning," he said, a smile on his face. She laughed, it felt good to laugh again. "How are you?"

"Tired," she said, running a hand through her hair. She could feel his eyes on her as she ran her hands through her hair to fluff her curls. She smirked as he made an affirmative sound, eyes never straying from her breasts. "Pensive" — she gave a coy grin — "Like the view?" she asked, looping her arms around his neck.

"Last night was—" he licked his lips.

"Intense." She nodded. "Both mentally and physically."

"Agreed." He pulled her hands forward, running his thumbs over her knuckles. "Speaking of that, Élise… I—"

"Later Arno," she said, pressing her fingers against his lips. "I want to simply enjoy sitting here in the early morning with you. I don't want to think about what's going on in our lives… at least not until tomorrow." Élise looked at him, a smiling curving her lips when he nodded with a sigh. She squeezed his hand before letting go. She worked her way into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, sighing softly when his hand rested on her side. His thumb stroked her skin.

The simplicity of it, being this close to him, naked and vulnerable and enveloped in silence. She closed her eyes, nuzzling his neck and thinking only on his heartbeat. "Any plans today, then?" Arno asked.

"No." She felt him nod. "You need to shave a bit."

"I do? I shaved yesterday." He shrugged. "We can discuss about what to do with Lady Eve?" he said. "I found some interesting information when I went to the Chevalier's office."

"I don't want to discuss that Arno." She pressed herself closer to him. "I… it's just one more problem that I don't want to worry about right now."

"Well what do you want to worry about?" he asked, nosing her hair. She smiled. She loved it when he did that. It was so childish and innocent, reminding her of when he would snuggle up in her bed as children, safe from the nightmares that plagued him since his father's death.

"Us."

"Us?" he titled her chin up to look at her. "In what way?" He asked. A knock sounded and the door opened. Valérie squeaked, a hand over her heart.  
"Pardon me Monsieur!" She winked at Arno. "Anything for breakfast?"

"Usual," he said, watching her leave. "Well?"

"We do have a wedding soon so, let's worry about that. Let's… think happy thoughts, and look to the future with joy." She smiled at him. "And then tonight… we can… worry about other things."

He laughed, nuzzling her nose. "Very well. Happy things. Let's go to the tailor and get fitted for our wedding garments." He ran his hand up her side, finger tracing the scar near her breast.

"It was my fault," she said, understanding the look in his eye. "I was careless and got hurt." She stroked the stubble on his face. He leaned into her touch, a soft hum escaping his throat. "You like that?"

"Feels nice," he murmured. "I could fall asleep again." He dipped his head and kissed her collarbone.

"Or not," she teased, laughter escaping her throat. "Let's get dress before Valérie comes back." She slid off his lap and headed behind the screen. She sighed, she hated putting on dresses.

"I want to take you shooting later," he said, "so I'd advise against a dress."

"Oh." She smiled. "I won't then." She opened her chest and pulled out her riding leathers, pausing when she noticed the ring she had bought tucked in the corner. It seemed so long ago since she bought it and she had yet to give it to Arno. She pulled a petticoat over it and closed the chest. She found her riding leathers more comfortable, especially since she could wear her wrapped corset with it. "I don't even know why women bother with dresses, breeches and trousers are much more comfortable," she grumbled as she finished dressing. She turned and looked at Arno, and went over to him. "Let me," she said.

"You don't have to, I'm perfectly capable of tying my own cravat." He didn't stop her though. "You look lovely."

"Please," she said, tucking the ends into his waistcoat. "Why do you wear two?"

"Why do you?" he countered. "Besides the beige one has a pocket for my father's watch." He stepped away and began rolling up on sleeve to his elbow; she frowned when he didn't roll up the other. Valérie came in as Arno was putting on his boots.

"Breakfast monsieur!" she said, setting it on the table by the window. "With fresh coffee. That'll be all?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," he said and Élise watched her go before sitting down and helping herself. He sat down next to her with a sigh and she reached over and run rolled his sleeve.

"Hey," he protested, pulling his arm away from her. "What are you doing?" he asked as he pushed the fabric up.

"Either you roll your sleeve down or roll the other one up."

"Does it bother you?" he asked, a teasing glint his eyes. "Élise?"

"It looks slovenly," she said, wrinkling her nose. She looked at him when he rolled his eyes. "It does!" she protested.

"Fine," he grumbled and rolled his sleeve down, then held out both arms. She tugged his left sleeve down and straightened the right. "There," she said, smirking when he rolled his eyes at her.

"Let's eat," he said, and they fell into a companionable silence as they ate their breakfast. She enjoyed these quiet moments with him. They finished and she holstered her pistol and sheathed her sword, Arno putting on his coat and weapons. He lowered his hood. "Ready?" he asked.

"Naturally." She walked passed him, running her hand along his shoulders as she left the room and headed to the stairs to wait for him in the courtyard. She jumped when he landed in front of her, a smirking. "You cheated."

"You took too long," he said with a wink. He stepped aside and gestured for her to continue. She shook her head. "Follow me, I know a good tailor that won't ask questions."

"Do Assassins have tailors?" she asked, glaring at him with a smile. He grinned.

"You'll find out."

* * *

 

He led her to a shop on the Right Bank, near the edge of the Marias district. It was a quaint looking shop and she was surprised it had survived the Revolution, considering how the radicals disliked fitted clothes and tried pushing unfitted clothes (which came in three lovely sizes: large, medium and small). The sign read  _Pascal's Tailoring and Boutique_. Mannequins displayed the goods in the shop and a young woman in a white bonnet was tending to one. Etched into the lower right-hand corner of the door, too small for an unobservant eye to see was the Brotherhood's insignia. "The Assassins have tailors?"

"They would've been forced to leave or be guillotine otherwise," Arno said as he entered the shop. "They came highly recommended by Rose Bertin."

"The queen's former dress-maker?" Élise's eyes grew wide, both hands on either side of the door frame. "Arno!"

"I told you the Brotherhood as resources and manpower," he said as she walked in. The bell chimed as the door closed and a young man came out. "Jacques," Arno said, grinning.

"Tear your coat again, Arno?" Jacques asked. "My sisters will be displeased with you." He leaned on the counter, smiling at Élise. "Bonjour citizeness."

"Jacques this is my fiancée," he took her hand, smiling and a tender look entered his gaze and she blushed, "Élise."

Jacques slapped the table with a whoop. "By God! About time too. My brother and I were starting to place bets on if you'll ever ask her." He laughed, and shouted something into the back in a language Élise couldn't recognize.

"Is he a—"

"Jew? Yes," Arno said, looking at her. "Does that bother you?"

"No," she said, "I'm just… surprised. I thought the Jacobins pushed them all out of Paris," Élise said. Arno shook his head, watching as Jacques slipped into the back to converse with his family.

"It's easier to have our own tailors. If we went to different ones they'll start asking questions about the frequency that we need patching and new clothing items. The Pascals provide us with their services and in exchange we protect them and provide business for them." He looked at her. "It's a neat system."

"Must be," she said, "they seem to be doing well." She looked around as Jacques came back out. She smiled at him, she would have never taken him for a Jew, but then again those often familiar with the whip of persecution learn quickly that blending in with the majority is the best form of survival.

"What brings you to the shop today Arno?" Jacques asked. Élise watched as the girl in the white bonnet gave her a small smile and went into the back.

"Wedding clothes. Élise and I don't exactly have uh… things nice enough for a wedding," Arno said. Jacques' jaw fell open and he grinned. "Would you—"

"Of course! We'd like nothing better! Mama and Papa will be honored," he said, "wait right here, I'll go tell them." He looked at Élise. "Mama will personally want to make your dress."

"Oh… I…" she blinked. "I… I don't know what to say. I don't want to burden her."

"Nonsense!" Jacques said and slipped into the back again. She looked at Arno, watching as he smiled bemusedly at nothing. The girl in the white bonnet came out again, sucking on her lower lip, and blushed when he gave her a polite nod. Élise arched a brow, she looked like a squirrel when she sucked on her lip. The girl quickly went into the back again.

"How well do you know these people?" she asked. He shrugged, as he went over to the ribbon.

"Well enough," he said, pulling out a length, it was a bright robin's egg blue. "Do you like this?"

"It's a nice color, yes, but I have no use for it." She watched him drop it. An old woman came out, yammering in what Élise figured to be Yiddish. She grabbed her by the hand and gave her a tug. She smiled at the woman, frowning when the woman gave a command in Yiddish.

"Go with Mama," Jacques said, shooing her along. "Go on. My sisters will take good care of you."

Élise stammered out a protest but the old woman's grip was strong and she was eventually led into the back. The old woman pushed her into a small room with a fitting mirror and a stool, three girls sitting around: two were sewing and the other was getting measuring tapes, fabrics and pins. The girl in the white bonnet was also there, helping her older sister. They spoke softly to each other in Yiddish. The old woman poked Élise in the back until she stood on the stool and then said something in Yiddish.

"Take your shoes off," the eldest sister said. "I'm Ariel," she said, "the eldest. That's Chloé, that's Hannah, over there is our youngest sister Sarah, and our mother, Rachel."

"Pleasure," Élise said. Rachel yammered something in Yiddish to Ariel, who frowned and told her mother to go help Sarah look through fabrics. "Is something wrong?"

"Mother is just worried I'm overtaxing myself. My first child is due soon," she smiled, patting her belly. "I'm fine though, I know my limits."

Élise nodded, feeling awkward with all these women staring at her. She remembered the shoe store her mother loved to frequent, the smell of leather and glue and soft murmurs of people talking in the back coupled with the ta-tap-tapping of cobbler's hammers. This was similar. Ariel was nice and she asked Élise a few questions about the gown she had in mind before she and her sisters began to measure and pin fabrics to her. "Any particular fashion?"

"I know it's a risk but," Élise paused, "I always wanted a robe à la française, though maybe not so wide."

"We can make it patriotic with a tricolored sash to drape across the shoulder," Ariel said, as she measured Élise's neck. She frowned, she wasn't expecting a tricolored sash for her wedding dress. "Any color?"

"White or beige?" she said. "I want a silver hairnet with emerald chips, to bring out my eyes."

Ariel hummed. "Yes, we can do something like that. Silk or satin?" She ran her hand through Élise's hair. "You have lovely hair. So soft too." She smiled.

Élise pulled her hair away from Ariel's hands, forcing a smile. "I prefer silk." Élise said and then swallowed. "How much is all this going to cost?" she asked. She had no money save for what the Marquis had given her and Arno. While the Café Théâtre and its satellite cafés were successful, she didn't want to burden Arno with debt for her wedding gown.

"Don't worry about the price," Ariel said. "This is your wedding day. Plus, we work for the Assassins, the prices don't bother us."

Élise nodded, lifting and lowering her arms when told to, standing still and lifting up her leg when needed. She made small talk with Ariel as she was poked and prodded and pinned and measured. Then came the fabrics that were draped over her, shades of white and beige ranging from blinding snow white to opalescent pearl and eggshell to a stunning pastel cream. She went with the pearl.

Then came the designs. Élise settled on puffs around the collar, ruffles for her sleeves, seed pearls on the bodice and poofs on the skirts and a lace veil. The seed pearls would be set in a shape of a cross. Moonstone drop earrings and the necklace Jennifer Scott gave her would complete the jewelry. "Do you know a jeweler?" she asked.

"Of course, he'll make the hairnet for you," Ariel said, giving a small squeak when her child kicked her. "Bouncy little one." She smiled at her. "Do you want children?"

"I… I do," Élise said, she swallowed. To admit it out aloud to a strange felt liberating; she allowed herself to smile at the thought of being pregnant; Arno's joy at their coming child. "I hope to have one." She looked at her feet. "I'm not sure if that'll come to pass, though. I've suffered two miscarriages so far."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ariel said and all the women in the room gave Élise sad glances; Rachael's look was the most pitying. "You'll have a child one day, I'm sure of it. Arno seems very… a man with much virility."

Élise's cheeks burned hot. "I'd appreciate if you did not speak about my fiancé's bedroom prowess in such a fashion."

"Forgive me," Ariel said as her mother snapped at her in Yiddish for being rude. "Well, uh… you're finished. I'm sure my father and brother have gotten Arno all settled. It'll be ready before the wedding, by the end of November."

Élise stepped off the stool and put her books back on. "Thank you," she said, leaving the fitting room. Arno was outside talking to Jacques. She smiled at Arno, he looked so handsome in his dark blue coat, it brought out his eyes and the fitted cut accented the curve of his muscles and body. She swallowed when she thought of what Ariel had said about him. She wondered if other women looked at Arno and desired him.  _He is a handsome man. It wouldn't be surprising if other women desired him. Men have been known to wander after marriage and the Marquis de Sade is an… acquaintance of his._  Élise shook her head, wondering where such thoughts came from. Her hands felt clammy, she rubbed them on her thighs to try and dispel the feeling.

"All done?" Arno asked, when she joined him.

"Yes." She gave him a tiny smile. She searched his face, trying to find any inkling of him growing bored of her.  _Iris fancies him at the café and I know Sarah does too. Are there any female Assassins that would lure him away? And when I fall pregnant… will he still want me then? I don't know if having such relations would be good for the baby. He could find someone else during my pregnancy to satisfy his urges, and maybe he'll come to prefer her over me and even after I have the child and I'm ready again for such activities he chooses not to have me. Oh, Mother… I wish you were here._  "I am."

"I can't wait to see you in your dress."

"Now, now," Jacques teased, "you know it's bad luck to see the bride in her dress before her wedding day."

"I'll take my chances," he said, and winked at her. Élise flushed. "Come. We're going to École Militaire on the Champ des Mars," Arno said. "We have one more thing to do that I think you'll enjoy a lot more than this."

"Now you have me intrigued," she said and they walked out of the shop. The crowds were thick, people babbling as they went about their day. Élise wrinkled her nose as a man with a noxious odor walked by them. They passed hawkers on the corners, waving pamphlets and periodicals at passer-bys. Everyone seemed less on edge with the Terror over, but people still cast a suspicious eye at one another; one slip could send someone to the guillotine. Arno lead the way. He knew the side streets and alleyways better than she did.

"Try not to think about what you're stepping in," he said as they slunk down a narrow passage just wide enough for him to fit through. Still his broad shoulders brushed against the walls of the buildings. Élise knew this had to been from the Hundred Years War.

"I am now," she said, thinking about the muck that squelched beneath her boots. He chuckled and she knew it was good to hear him laugh again. They came out near the Tuileries Gardens; Élise blinked against the bright light and sighed with relief at the fresh scents of the gardens, though that was over shadowed whenever the wind came from the Seine. The river had a putrid smell to it. They crossed the Seine at the Pont Royal heading towards the Champ des Mars. There the soldiers of the Republic's army drilled. The captains shouted orders and there was the loud crack of rifle fire and the sulfuric scent of spent powder. A thunderous boom echoed across the field; the roar of the canons. "Why are we here?" she asked.

"There is apparently an Austrian wedding custom that states the groom-to-be must take the bride-to-be shooting before the wedding," he said, "I thought you may enjoy it."

"Really?" Élise asked, brightening. "Oh, Arno, this is going to be fun!" She smirked at the spirit of competition. She was a better shot than he was. The idle soldiers glanced at her, murmuring to their fellows and pointing with their chins in their direction; Élise didn't notice, Arno did. "Prepare to lose." She smirked as he settled his hand on her hip, pulling her close.

He nuzzled her neck, glaring at the soldiers. "And what do you stand to gain if you win?" he purred into her ear. He didn't allow her to answer, as he pulled away, hand trailing across her lower back. She discreetly fanned herself as she followed him. Arno had never been shy about showing her physical affection or teasing her, yet he tended to be less obvious when in public. This was new for him and she wondered what changed his attitude. None of the soldiers paid her any mind. "Élise!" he jerked his head in a come-hither manner when he realized she wasn't following him.

"Coming," she called and reached his side in a few quick strides. She matched his gate, smiling when he took her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. She enjoyed feeling connected to him and feeling their connection. They reached the commander and Arno spoke at length with the man, who seemed put out to lend them ammunition and weapons and targets for a shooting activity. He cast a dubious eye upon Élise and asked once more if Arno was positive about this course of action. Élise was studying the building when she heard Arno drop Napoleon's name. She quirked a brow at him as the commander went off to arrange the targets. "Using your connections now?" she asked. It didn't seem like an Assassin thing — or an Arno thing for that matter — to do. He shrugged.

"The man wouldn't have done it otherwise. We don't exactly have a shooting range in the Sanctuary."

"You don't train Assassins in Paris?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No," he said, "Bellec took me outside of Paris to one of the old ruined castles. For nearly a year he drilled me. Physically, mentally, taught me all manner of weapons, stealth, how to craft smoke bombs, cherry bombs, poisons and poison bombs. History too, the history of the order going back to has far as our records allow."

"Which is?"

"Citizen Dorian," the commander said, "your targets are ready."

"Merci," Arno said, nodding to the commander and leading Élise to the targets. She shook her head, not surprised he chose to remain silent on that question. Two targets stood fifty paces away from them, they stepped up to a wooden table that had two pistols and two rifles on it.

"These weapons are beautiful," she whispered as she ran a hand over the polish wood handles of the pistols. She looked up when he placed a hand over hers.

"Yes, she is," he said, an easy smile on his lips. She blushed, giggling; whenever he smiled like that at her, his expression reminded her of a puppy.

"Take your pistol," she said, pushing his face away from her with a laugh as she grabbed hers. To make the competition fair, they'd both be using the military provided them. "I'm going to win."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Challenge accepted."

"Make ready!" the commander shouted. They pulled back the dogshead, their pistols pointing to the sky. "Aim!" They took aim at their targets. Élise remembered the year spent training with Freddie, his gruff voice and English-accented French barking orders at her. He had molded her into a stunning markswoman. The pistol's weight felt unfamiliar yet her muscles knew what to do. She sighted down the barrel, lining up the top edge of the muzzle with the center of the target. The only problem was she didn't know how far off the mark she'd be. "Fire!"

She and Arno both pulled the triggers, their pistols coughing smoke and sparks, sending the bullet speeding towards the target. There was a thud as the lead ball imbedded itself into the hay. They were both off the mark, though Élise wound the round. "Merde," Arno said, when she smirked at him as they reloaded their pistols again. She was going to win. She knew how to compensate for the pistol's tendency to send the bullet to the left. She hit the bull's eye this time. It pleased her that Arno was scowling, intent on making up for his bad scores and not being able to win. She remembered in their childhood games, she had won more times than not or lead the adventure. Back then he had been content to follow her lead, a scared orphan boy desperate for friendship and acceptance. Now he was a man and would not suffer having his pride bruised.

The next round was their off-hand. She sighed, loading her pistol and switching to her left hand. Weatherall had drilled her in her off-hand as well.  _Catching your opponent off guard is the best way to open an advantage._  He had told her. It still didn't make her like firing with her left hand. Still, she hit the bull's eye again and the second time. She preened when the commander grudgingly declared her the winner of the pistol round. "I told you I was going to win."

"Next is the rifles," Arno said, picking up one. He flipped it around and caught it again, smirking as he showed off. She rolled her eyes. "Think you can handle it."

"I can handle myself," she replied, picking up the other rifle. It was heavier than a pistol, longer too and felt more awkward in her hands. She watched as Arno handled the gun; he seemed to be in his element.  _Has he… trained with rifles before? I… I really don't know much about him. How many secrets have we kept from each other because it's just been easier to focus on the present than discuss our pasts. Is the man I love more of a stranger than what I originally thought?_  She loaded her rifle and brought to arms, tucking the butt in the pocket of her shoulder. They fired. She wasn't expecting the kick back; the rifle's muzzle went wide and up and she stumbled back. The bullet bounced off a tree and buried itself into the ground. She lost her footing and landed on her butt. The soldiers laughed as Arno helped her to her feet.

"Point to Citizen Dorian," the commander said once he regained composure. Élise glared at the man. She reloaded her rifle and jerked when Arno's hands fell upon hers.

"Relax," he said, his voice soft. His thumbs brushed her fingers. "You want the butt a bit closer to your breast." He moved it a little bit. "Squeeze your shoulder towards you when you fire, it'll help keep the butt in place." He nudged her foot back. "Keep your foot back like that, but don't put much weight on it. It'll help stabilize you during the recoil. Hold your breath just before you fire and keep a tight grip on the weapon."

"You've trained with rifles before." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. His cheek was next to hers and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His closeness was intoxicating, she could smell his cologne and the gunpowder and the funk from the alleyway. The gloves he wore were soft and supple from years of care and use. It felt nice, being wrapped in his presence like that, his voice soft and a bit husky in her ear as he instructed her on how to maintain control of the rifle. She felt his cock starting to poke her in the butt. She couldn't believe it, that this would arouse him. She wiggled her butt and his breath hitched, letting out a soft groan. She chuckled and it turned into a squeak when he kissed her ear, giving it a soft nip.

"Stop that," he said. "But yes, and seeing you handle weapons is an incredibly arousing sight. Do you want me to stay with you as you shoot again?"

"I think I got this," she said. He nodded, kissing her hair and running a hand over her butt before stepping back. He adjusted himself and went to stand on his side. She didn't score a point in the rifle shooting, but she did take some small comfort that Arno desired her. They headed back the way they came. The people in the streets jostled them and they rolled with the ebbs and flows of the human sea.

They had reached the Île de la Cité, passing the great cathedral of Notre Dame on their way to the Café Théâtre (located on the Île Saint Louis) when a sharp cry broke through the hubbub of the Parisian streets. "Thief! Thief! He reached right in and stole it from me!" a woman cried. Arno let go of her hand.

"Which way did he go?" he asked. Élise stepped closer to the distraught woman. She pointed in the direction the thief had ran off. Arno narrowed his eyes for a heartbeat before sprinting after the thief.

"Oh, where are the guards when you need them!" the woman said. "No one helps."

"Arno's helping," Élise said, gesturing in the direction Arno had ran off in. "He's on the man's trail right now and I have no doubt he'll be brought to justice." The woman glared at her but seemed reluctant to trust Élise.

"And who are you? All dressed up and pretty?" she asked, squinting. Élise swallowed as the woman claim closer. "You look to be a noble." The woman paused. "Don't care much for highbloods."

"I—"

"—caught him," Arno said, returning, his cheeks flushed from the running. He handed the woman's purse over. "He's with the marshals as we speak. He'll get punished."

"Thank you," the woman said, accepting her money and bobbing a curtsy at Arno. "Paris needs more good-hearted men like you these days." She pushed her way pass Élise. "Can I not tempt you to supper?"

"I… uh… thank you," Arno said, stepping back and taking Élise's hand. "But I have prior engagements with this fine woman right here." He gave her that puppy-smile again. Élise felt her cheeks color. The woman snorted, spitting at Élise's feet before heading off, vanishing into the crowd. Arno made to go after but Élise tugged him back.

"She thanked you, leave it at that," Élise said, he grumbled. " _Arno_."

"She spat at your feet!"

"She thinks I'm a noble."

"Well you ar— _ow!_  Élise!"

She smiled serenely at him, ignoring the fact she stepped on his foot. She batted her lashes at him. "Yes?" she asked as they headed towards the Café Théâtre. He snorted as they entered.

* * *

 

Once inside Arno forced the woman and her insult towards Élise out of his head. The cathedral had struck three bells before they returned home, people were coming in for dinner. He turned to Élise, who was watching the patrons. "Why don't you go upstairs and put on something flattering," he said, "and then come down here and pick a table for us. Something in the middle."

"Oh?" she gestured to her outfit. "I think this is flattering enough."

"Please Élise," he whined, "I want to see you in a dress for this." He wanted it to be perfect and she always did look lovely in dresses, despite how much she loathed them.

"What are you planning? First the tailor and then the shooting and now you want me in a dress for dinner?" She eyed him suspiciously. "Are you plotting something?"

"No. Just… for me, tonight." He took her hand and kissed the palm. "Please?" He searched her face, watching her thoughts behind her blue eyes.

"Alright." She pulled her hand away. "Fine. I'll go and change. But I expect you to be presentable too! Not in this." She gestured to his own attire. He chuckled, nodding as he did so. She went off to get Helene and he sprinted upstairs to their room, quickly pulling off his Assassin robes in favor for the more comfortable shit and waistcoat of the successful owner of the Café Théâtre. He looked at himself in the mirror, ran his hand over his face and decided he can wait until after dinner to shave a bit, splashed more cologne on and gave up on taming that one clump of locks on his right side. He turned as Élise came in with Helene. She gave his appearance a critical once over. "I  _supposed_  that will do," she said, pouting.

"Helene, have you seen Jean-Jacques?" Arno asked.

"He's training, why?" Helene said, but Arno ignored her and ran off to the training room. He saw his friend, swinging a large axe at a few hapless dummies. He laughed as the straw heads went flying. Arno cleared his throat loudly to get the axe wielding Assassin's attention.

"Ah, Arno!" he said, walking up to him. "What's the matter?"

"I need it," Arno said, glancing back towards his room on the other side of the building. Élise would be a while getting ready. "Jean-Jacques, I need  _it_."

"It?" Jean-Jacques asked. He nodded, watching as his friend's eyes grew wide as understanding dawned on him. "Oh!  _Oh!_  Oh." His big shoulders slumped and this caused Jean-Jacques to appear small and deflated. "Oh, I'm sorry Arno, but I lost it."

Arno shook his head and stared at his friend, blinking thrice in quick succession. "What?" he asked. He could've swore Jean-Jacques said he lost it, but he had trusted his friend to take care of it before he was dismissed from the Brotherhood. He bought it after killing Le Peletier. He had been planning this moment since then; though he feared he had botched it by blurting out the question the day after they killed Germain. "What do you mean you lost it?" he asked. "How could you lose it! I told you to keep it safe!"

"I know, Arno, I know," Jean-Jacques said, sympathetic, "but you and Red—"

" _Élise!_ "

"Are engaged already," Jean-Jacques said. "Why are you doing this again?"

"Because I want to? I want to do it properly for once. I want her to know that I truly meant it, and I didn't blurt it out at random." He looked at his friend, clenching and unclenching his fists. He felt like punching Jean-Jacques. How could he lose it, knowing how much it meant to Arno? "I want it to be official!"

"Arno," Élise said, she was wearing a lovely blue dress that brought out her eyes. Helene had managed to tie Élise's hair up in a bun, a few curls artfully framing her face. He swallowed. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, I am, meet me down there. Pick a table, order something! I just have to take care of a small matter," he said. She huffed, heading down to the café. He turned back to Jean-Jacques. "Think!"

"Oh, I think I remember where it is!" Jean-Jacques said. "Wait here, I'll go check." He hung up his axe and headed off. Arno ran his hand through hair and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. He took three deep breaths before heading downstairs and joining Élise.

"You seem uptight," she said as he slid into the seat opposite her. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. I'm just… anxious," he said. She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"Don't be," she said. "I ordered us the lemon chicken with a mushroom wine sauce and vegetables."

"Oh, that sounds delicious," he said as Julian came out with a bottle of Bordeaux. "You know me too well Élise." He chuckled as Julian popped the cork and set the open bottle on the table to let it breathe. He left to attend to someone wanting coffee.

"You are the man I love." She chuckled. "I should at least know your favorite wine." She looked at the bottle. "Eighty-six?"

"Not a bad year," he said as he took the bottle and poured them each a glass. He leaned back, watching the play on stage. A Greek comedy adapted to fit the new enlightened sensibilities of the Revolution. He and Élise chuckled along with the audience. It was a good distraction from his other worry. He hoped Jean-Jacques found the damn thing. The play broke for an interlude, during which a man with a nasally voice got on stage and sang one of the patriotic songs. Their lemon chicken also arrived. Julian winked at him and Arno privately regretted getting Andrée and Julian on board with the idea a few weeks ago.

Jean-Jacques still hadn't showed up. Élise was daintily working her way through the chicken thigh on her plate. His food remained untouched. "Are you going to eat your dinner, Arno?" she asked, pointing her fork to his untouched food.

"Oh, uh… yes, I am I'm just… stomach's a bit touchy." He took a gulp of wine and swallowed loudly. She frowned.

"May have something to do with all that wine." She pointed to his dinner again. "Eat. You'll feel better." She went back to eating. "This is really good."

"Andrée is a good cook," he agreed and finally tucked into his chicken. He was beginning to relax and enjoy the lemon and herbs rubbed into the bird when Jean-Jacques appeared and his jitters returned. He swallowed and nearly choked on the hunk of mostly chewed chicken.

"Arno!" Élise and Jean-Jacques cried. He raised a hand, coughing it up and chewing a bit more before swallowing. He finished his wine off before gasping for breath.

"Are you alright?" Jean-Jacques asked.

"I'm fine." He looked at his friend. "Did you—" he caught the small box Jean-Jacques tossed him. He cracked it open and the item was safely within in. He could've wept and kissed the big burly man on the lips. "Thank you."

"Sorry for scaring you earlier." Jean-Jacques said. Arno chuckled as his friend took a seat at a table and began to flirt with one of the ladies. He caught Helene's annoyed look as she went around helping Valérie and Félicité. Arno made a note to discuss that with Jean-Jacques.

"Odd that the players haven't returned," Élise said, drawing his attention to the empty stage. Arno swallowed before standing up. "Arno?" she sipped her wine. "Something wrong?"

"No." He hopped onto the stage, the corners of the small box digging into his palm. He took a quick breath before looking out at the patrons of the café. His eyes settled on Élise. She was the only one that mattered, the only one that existed in the moment. "Élise," he said and the café shushed as all eyes focused on her. "From the moment I met you I knew you'd be special to me. That you'd forever hold a special unforgettable place in my heart. You weren't like other eight-year-old girls, who minded their manners and their dresses. You wanted to explore just as badly as I did. Even though we met under what would later end up being grim circumstances, you remain my stalwart companion throughout my childhood, helping me come to terms with my father's death." He bowed his head, pressing a thumb to his eyes to rid them of the tears. Thinking of his father still hurt, especially during times like this, when his heart was laid bare for the world to examine. "I don't know when I realized I loved you, maybe around the same time I realized I was no longer a boy and you were no longer a girl." He chuckled, smiling. "But whenever it happened I glad it. For I love you, with all my heart. Even after the tragedy of your father's death and all we had to… struggle through to ensure that his soul rests in peace… I loved you. I still love." He hopped off the stage and walked towards her, confidence in what he said and felt growing. "I can't imagine my life without you in it, always by my side. My voice of reason, my devil's advocate, the encouragement I need to continue on, the shoulder to cry on when I'm at my lowest. My best friend and my truest love." He got down on one knee, and presented the box towards her; it opened with a soft squeak, revealing the chalcedony ring. "Élise de la Serre, would you honor by being my wife?"

A hush fell over the Café Théâtre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> I toss this chapter to you, you ravenous horde of wolves!
> 
> I personally think Arno's OOC during the last part when he's talking with Jean-Jacques and fretting. Tell me what you think in the comments!
> 
> Sorry it took so long. I had school and life and shit to deal with. Also, next chapter will probably be up in July. I hope to start working on it on Wednesday. I'm getting my tattoo on my right arm finished this Saturday and it may interfere with my writing (it's a 2-3 hour session) as my swollen tender freshly tattooed arm will not be happy with being pressed up against my thigh for hours on end.
> 
> For those curious about the gemstone in Elise's engagement ring: Chalcedony, the "Stone of Unity," is sky blue in color. It symbolizes good will and enhances generosity and a nurturing energy. Chalcedony is helpful in stimulating your sense of unity while alleviating hostile energy.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> Nemo et Nihil

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft 
> 
> So… this is the squeal to Sacrifice. It's basically gonna continue the story if Élise had survived. So, Franciade, here we come! It's mostly going to be told from Élise's POV because I love writing her. :3
> 
> Save an author; leave a review. (PS: Author enjoys long reviews)
> 
> Nemo
> 
> PS: I haven't forgotten EKGTCR or BLaH.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nightmares](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104908) by [Mlgdd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mlgdd/pseuds/Mlgdd), [Squid_Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink)




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